In der Fremde: eine neues Abenteuer
by lieder
Summary: In this second installment of 'In der Fremde', Hermann is back in Kenya with a new group of colleagues  and a fresh supply of drinks, just in case of emergency .  What are he and Kopa going to get up to this time? Only time will tell...
1. Im Paradies

IN DER FREMDE: EINE NEUES ABENTEUER

Hermann (and his slightly off-kilter friends) and Kopa are back for a second adventure! This part begins directly where the first _In der Fremde _left off, and as such, won't make a ton of sense unless you're familiar with the first installment. As was the case in the final chapter of part I, the Outlander pride now lives at Pride Rock with Simba's family. I suppose I should disclose that all the characters that are not of my own creation are owned by Disney.

_Viel Spa__β_(enjoy)!

-As an addendum, the ß symbol, called a double _s _(in German, _eszet_) is simply pronounced as a _ss _would be. Thus, the word _Spa__ß _is pronounced 'spass'.

**I – EINS**

_**Im Paradies**_

_You can do this, you can do this, _Hermann thought over and over again. _You know the piece inside and out, you've heard it a million times; the only difference between now and then is that you're the guy with the stick this time. _

"You're due to go on now, maestro," a stagehand said from around a corner. Hermann set his water glass down—with any luck, he'd be drinking vintage champagne in two hours or so—got up from his chair, took his cane in one hand and a baton in the other, and walked out the stage door. The house was packed, not an empty seat in the entire building…even the nosebleeds were crammed to capacity, all to see this new H.W. Sterlitz fellow in his orchestral debut. As Hermann stepped out into the floodlights and carefully made his way onto a red-carpeted podium, a roar of applause went up from the audience. It seemed as if these people already knew him from something he'd done before, even though he hadn't directed an orchestra in his life (not counting the times he had enthusiastically waved a loofah-on-a-stick around in the shower when a familiar piece came on the radio). No, this was the first real exposure he'd ever gotten, and still people cheered him and clapped as if he were another Herbert von Karajan.

Hermann made a slight bow, shook the concertmaster's hand, and opened his score to the first page: Beethoven's Seventh Symphony, opus ninety-two. He hadn't been exaggerating to himself earlier about already having heard it time and again; the symphony was one of the works he had grown up with, and it had not taken Hermann long at all to learn all the melodies, entrances, and tempo changes as if he himself had written them. He had heard it live in concert at least five times, and couldn't even begin to count how often the local radio programs had broadcast the same. Still, this night would be the first instance in which he would actually be driving the machine, in the left-hand seat, holding the reins…whatever metaphor he cared to choose for the act of orchestral conducting, and he knew more than a few.

The applause died down. Hermann checked his score one last time and did a quick scan of the orchestra: every pair of eyes was on him, on the tip of the baton in his right hand. One upbeat later, and he was off and running, every last instrumentalist in tune and playing in perfect time; the scene seemed almost _too_ perfect, _too_ dialed in, free of even the slightest point to improve upon—miniscule musical missteps that almost always go unknown to all except the man with the stick—to be real. But Hermann didn't let such thoughts linger for more than a second or two. He never did. When he had rehearsed the piece before, his brain often went into overdrive as the music progressed: _meter change into 4/4 here, bring the dynamic up to forte here, make sure to cue the flutes one bar after letter D. _In this instance, however, such thoughts were strangely and blessedly absent: one bar progressed into the next, the first movement into the second, with no more effort than it took to breathe.

By the time the last beat arrived, the echoes didn't even have enough time to dissipate, nor did Hermann have the chance to set his baton down, before the house practically detonated in raucous approval. Everything had gone along like a passage out of a textbook…and then a nasty high-pitched shrieking started to overpower the applause. Hermann looked at the first violinist who was shrugged his shoulders in confusion, then at a similarly perplexed oboe player, and finally at his own podium, where a screeching alarm clock had suddenly appeared. In an instant, the symphony hall and orchestra were gone, and Hermann, his handsome conductor's tuxedo transformed back into a moldy old t-shirt and torn shorts, was looking up at the ceiling of a canvas tent. The same alarm clock from before was still blaring away on a bedside table.

_At least I got through the whole thing this time, _he thought, looking over at the source of the noise to confirm his suspicion.

_Six AM_…_this is going to kill me._

As early an hour as it was, Hermann was still always the last person to wake up and start his daily routine. The other researchers—a group of three men and two women—were always awake and alert well before he was. Days were long and hot, and nights were short and often just as warm; the canvas tents made sure of that. The pressing hours and frequent lack of rest would have taken a toll on just about anybody, and Hermann certainly noticed the effects on himself, but his colleagues seemed strangely unaffected. Almost every day, it was "wake up, Hermann, let's go already", or "get moving, Hermann, these patients aren't going to treat themselves." Most often, he wondered silently about who in their right mind would be waiting outside for medical treatment before the sun had even had a chance to come up, but he was never one to complain, at least not out loud. The others, all of them older than he was, would not think well of him for it…and even with an early wake up time, who could possibly argue with the location? Once the fog of the previous night's delirium had worn off and Hermann had stepped outside, he always thought the exact same thing, without the slightest hint of sarcasm or insincerity: _another day in paradise_.

"_Get up, Hermann! There's not going to be any breakfast left!"_

"All right, I'm coming! Give me a break, no pun intended…I've got a right leg that's nothing but dead weight."

"_It was alive enough yesterday when you were using those trees as goalposts and taking penalty shots with my backpack."_

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

It was a Friday when Hermann was startled from his concert hall dream, a November morning on the African savannah about as antithetical to the frigid German winter as it was possible to get. Most days were more or less the same: get up, fix breakfast, and spend the whole day tending to the locals and compiling data on their ailments and courses of treatment. From time to time, when Hermann and the other research fellows had finished all their work and fancied something to eat or drink apart from the usual fare, someone might pull a bottle of this or that out of 'the pit', an improvised cooling cellar dug into the ground for those precious (alcoholic) comestibles requiring steadily cooler temperatures. Other times, a group of two or three would go out hunting, with Hermann in the lead toting a weathered Remington rifle. His marksmanship skills were always the talk of the campsite after hours; had the ammunition not been in such short supply, he might have spent more time putting on trick shot exhibitions and less time doing his actual job. Even though he resisted the trend, Hermann's uncanny ability to put a lead bullet on target became something of a new law of nature amongst the others: the sun comes up in the morning and sets at night, the Earth rotates on its axis twenty-three degrees relative to the ecliptic, and Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz never misses a shot. But Fridays, unlike the other days of the week, left no time for messing about with rifles…not for Hermann, at least. The first part of the day differed little from any other—the six o'clock wake up, breakfast with the rest of the group, and then each doctor going off to his own tasks—but once the working hours had wound down and his colleagues began to pack in and prepare the evening meal, Hermann would invariably pick up his cane and meander over to a rather curious piece of equipment sitting a short distance from his bed. This object was his only real mode of transport, seeing as his legs weren't much good for anything except short distances; Piper Cubs, however, only required enough leg strength to work the rudder pedals. Hermann was not the first researcher to ever fly his way into Africa, but he _was_ the only one in his group who couldn't get around well enough under his own power. Still, Hermann's disability was rather superfluous in the broader context: not a man on Earth, given the choice between hiking and flying, would have elected to walk had he actually known where the airplane was flying to at the start of each weekend.

In truth, nobody could really fault Hermann for taking advantage of his pilot's license in a part of the world where even roads seemed nonexistent: all around the camp, as far as any of the doctors could see, was a limitless expanse of unspoiled grassland free of contamination from buildings or other so-called human 'improvements'. Save for the tents he and his research colleagues slept in at night, nothing else resembled or evoked civilization as Hermann knew it…except for one distant grouping of rocks on the northern horizon, its top just barely visible in when the light was good and the haze in the air was at a minimum. In the minds of all except one man, the rocks were a simple artifact of nature, nothing more than a curiously-shaped monolith, a sideways-lying _L _in an otherwise flat landscape. To Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz, however, that _L _had special significance: he, and only he, knew it as _der Rudelfelsen_, a word of another colleague's invention meaning 'the rock where the lion pride lives', while the land surrounding it carried the German appellation of _der Königreich Priderländer. _The inhabitants of that particular spot knew Hermann as well. He had an official title with the locals, 'Executive Commandant Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz', although he never went by it. He didn't even like to be called 'Herr Sterlitz' or 'Doctor Sterlitz', both of which would have been more than proper; to everyone he knew, including his work associates, he was Hermann. Just Hermann. But those select few who knew of his special salutation did not think of Hermann as a work associate, nor as a military figure as his rank might have implied. To everyone, especially the youngest generation, who lived in the kingdom starting just over the creek next to the tents, Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz, MD was family.


	2. Largo al Factotum

**II –ZWEI**

_**Largo al Factotum**_

_28__th__ August. I do not how the two of us have gotten to where we are now, _a page out of Hermann's notebook from his last trip read. _If I were one to believe in destiny, in the proposition that all things take place for some reason or another, I would say that some otherworldly force has brought us here to serve as a gallant last chance for someone so desperately in need of one. But I am not such a person. I cannot believe in anything but incredible coincidence, as there is no other explanation that satisfies me. Perhaps in this case, the unshakable skepticism that has often served me well in the past shall ultimately be my downfall. Either way, _the passage concluded, breaking from its didactic style as the hand-written letters lost much of their flourishes and ornamentation, _call it what you will, coincidence, fate or otherwise, this has been one hell of a vacation._

Had Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz, MD and his colleague Markos Schreiber not come to work one day to find plane tickets waiting for them, none of that writing would have ever existed. Hermann's Africa trip was originally a gift from his supervisor, a congratulatory present for a residency well spent. It was a rather daunting prospect to someone who had both studied infectious tropical diseases, of which there were more than a few to contend with, and never been further away from home than the Swiss Alps. Nevertheless, after raiding the hospital pharmacy and several supply cabinets—Hermann had a nasty habit of borrowing without express permission from time to time—he was confident that he would be prepared for the worst that the continent could throw his way. By the time he and Markos arrived at their camp, exhausted from the plane ride and on the drunker side of sober, all Hermann could think out was a good night's rest, malaria-carrying mosquitoes and man-eating animals be damned. But he wouldn't ever get the sleep he longed for, not on that night. Not thirty minutes after he fell asleep, the distant sound of screaming and shouting awoke the two men and prompted them to investigate.

In this way, Hermann and Markos stumbled across Kopa, who had been severely attacked and was nearly dead by the time they arrived. Nala, his mother, was hysterically trying to keep him going as long as she could; his father Simba was away, and had yet to be reached. And for once, a bout of kleptomania proved incredibly useful: Hermann had a burgeoning suitcase full of medical supplies (albeit intended for his own use should the worst befall him), and he himself was a well-trained medical doctor. The combination was enough to bring Kopa around, first through morning, and then, in the weeks that followed, through a long and difficult but successful recovery. Hermann knew he was out of his league from the beginning, and nothing about his time spent at Pride Rock had been easy, but with the occasional song in German to soothe his patient, as well as a few motivational pep talks from either Markos, Nala or Simba to himself, everything had ended in blissful success. The only thing Hermann regretted after all was finally said and done, and he and his colleague had been officially inducted into the pride and given formal title therein, was that he had to return to Stuttgart, and that the date of his next return could be months, if not years down the road. _I go from the unknown back into the unknown, _Hermann's journal read, dated the day he had reembarked on an airplane to Berlin. _This place which one seemed so inhospitable, so prohibitive to life and happiness, has revealed itself as rich and welcoming a spot as my own German homeland. Those I have left behind, for only a short time, God willing, have our memories, our stories, and our national flag to remember us by; I, too, will treasure the many fond recollections of Kopa and his family for years to come, though alas, I shall always be in want of the real thing. _The entry concluded with a few unfinished half sentences and a group of chord progressions in G flat minor. Hermann had always liked the obscure keys. He would challenge himself that way—pick an intentionally difficult signature at random and spell out all its chords; transpose it up a major third and then down a minor sixth; switch it into major and try to write something semi-decent—although on this occasion, his aim was less directed at self-improvement and more towards keeping his mind from wandering back to Pride Rock. Perhaps if he filled the page with sharps and flats, making the intervals so obscure that even he wouldn't be able to recognize them, there wouldn't be any room left in his head for emotion. He was wrong. The more he tried to blot Kopa and the rest of the pride out of his mind, even for a moment or two, the more they refused to be ignored. He was filling out applications to return to Kenya, this time on fellowship, less than three days after his return flight landed in Berlin.

Hermann's tenure in Africa came as a surprise to almost everyone he knew. Research fellowships were one thing, but spending months at a time in the exact middle of who-knows-where was never an idea that appealed to many of the medical students in Stuttgart. There was the weather to consider—Germany had a winter, a ski season, while the year-round temperature in Africa was either 'hot' or 'hotter'—the wildlife that had a nasty reputation of eating visitors alive, and those pesky military coups to worry about...all in all, even one of these negatives on their own was enough to keep most people's interest in other areas. And of all the people in his graduating class, Hermann was probably the person who would have seemed least likely to jump on a plane to Kenya. He had only one good leg to stand on, had never even been further from home than Switzerland, and spent his free time at the symphony hall or in the library. None of these luxuries would be afforded him south of the Sahara—even a luxury vacation package to a tropical island might have come up short in some regard—and still, here he was, the tail gunner of a six-man medical team, living somewhere even the satellites probably couldn't see.

For a bush camp off the charted map, Hermann and his colleagues were very well supplied with both work- and non-work-related items. They had a medical chest rivaling any operating room (with a few extra vials inside bearing the initials H.W.S., just in case the writer took a bad step on his leg and turned from a doctor into the next patient), comfortable sleeping arrangements, a small electric generator, lots of medical books, and satellite phones and laptops to communicate with the outside world. Food, water, and generator fuel arrived by car at the beginning of each week, and although drink was technically forbidden at the campsite, the clinking sound from inside several of the researchers' suitcases upon arrival was quite indicative of just how little this rule was actually going to be followed. All of the researchers had their own interests and hobbies outside of treating patients and recording data; Marta spent her free time painting the surrounding landscapes with watercolors, Karl wrote poems and read Foucault in French when the mood struck him, and Werner, similar to Hermann, was of the musical persuasion, often pulling out a worn old violin when the day's tasks had been finished. The other two doctors, siblings Hans and Alexandra, were far more interested in talking sports and cracking bad jokes than music or philosophy, which was often a welcome change from the all-business academic attitudes that the three most senior physicians frequently exhibited. But for all of the interests and abilities present in camp, none of the doctors except Hermann could fly an aircraft, nor did they have family in the area. At least, that was what Hermann always said to make his weekend trips sound normal: _I'm going to visit my family_. The others didn't read too deeply into these announcements; they figured that perhaps Hermann had relatives in Nairobi, as odd as it might have been if it were true. What a surprise they would have had in following the plane to its landing point, and seeing who came out to greet the aircraft and its pilot as soon as the sound from the propeller blades began to cut through the air.

Pride Rock itself was primarily known, as its name logically suggested, for the pride of lions living there, but the noteworthy residents there were not completely confined to the leonine order. Just as famous as Simba was, and with an even more formidable reputation, was the animal who lived directly next to the pride in a large pond. Most of the time, even the best-trained eyes in the pride had difficulty spotting him, but on the rare occasion that he came out of the water, even those with lesser vision could see quite clearly that his creature was most definitely not a lion. In most respects, as a matter of fact, he was superior to any lion in the world: larger, stronger, practically invisible until it was too late, and just about impossible to kill. This last attribute made him particularly valuable to Simba and his family, as well as an absolute nightmare for anyone looking for trouble: on the one recorded occasion that a pack of six hyenas, not a small number by any means, had ventured into the Pride Lands looking for a few cubs to snack on, two of the six had been eaten, a third was unceremoniously chomped to bits, and the remaining three were sent running for their lives as the destruction transpired behind them. Even though the protector was harmless to those he knew, and often gave the cubs an occasional boat ride around the pond, the sheer magnitude of what he was capable of doing was enough to prompt crystal-clear instructions from Simba to young and old alike: do not, under any circumstances whatsoever, surprise Roberto. There couldn't be any harm, the king reasoned, in making sure that everyone made sure not to sneak up on a one-ton, fourteen-foot crocodile from Cataluña…or his mate or offspring, for that matter. Only one cub had ever made the mistake of thinking that the youngsters lacked their father's feistiness and would thus be prime subjects to toy with, and that encounter had ended with teeth marks in her tail.

To Kopa, Hermann was everything: a teacher; a friend and confidant; a hero; a person who had saved his life. He looked up to him no differently than if he were a second father, as dear to him as both of his parents were. Hermann always had another cane trick up his sleeve or a song in his mental music library, was essentially un-stumpable when questions regarding the classical and literary masters came up, and provided an attentive ear and a steady shoulder to lean on when all other options seemed forsaken (the steadfastness of his leg, however, was another matter entirely). But Kopa was almost never the only one waiting in eager anticipation every time Hermann made one of his dance-with-death arrivals at Pride Rock. Also a part of the welcoming committee was Vitani, Simba and Nala's adopted daughter and Kopa's best friend since before he could remember. Thanks to the traumatic earlier months spent in the Outlands under her cruel birth mother's tutelage, Vitani was understandably a bit warier than the rest of her new family—she had already gone through hell once, and all things now being resolved for the infinitely better, had no desire to do so again—but nobody could ever call her sense of loyalty into question: even when Kopa was fighting for life under Hermann's observation, she never strayed once from his side. Quiet, soft-spoken Wolfgang, Vitani's cousin and fellow adoptee who came to the Pride Lands nameless and took after Hermann's middle name so much that he asked permission to make it his own, was as calm and sedate as Vitani was mischievous. Whereas many of the other cubs spent the hours wrestling with each other or splashing around in the pond, Wolfie, as his friends and family called him, could be satisfied simply by watching a passing flock of birds or the sun set below the western horizon. At first, Simba and Nala wondered if there was something not quite right with him, given all that he had to have seen prior to arriving in the Pride Lands, but they quickly realized that he was simply more at ease than the others, extremely happy in his new home even though he wasn't overtly exuberant. At the far end of the age spectrum, the youngest of all the cubs, was Lied, who could often be counted on to round out the pack. He was the only Outlander cub lucky enough to never spend a day in his pride's former homeland; before his birth, his mother Adila, following in Vitani's footsteps, had managed a daring escape and arrived, exhausted but alive, at the foot of Pride Rock several days later. What Lied lacked in size he more than made up for in enthusiasm, which usually served him well but got him into a pickle or two from time to time. His mother had to have a few words with him after he had seen the other cubs chasing birds around, decided to have a go himself, and selected a very large, very short-tempered Martial Eagle as his target (the fact that the others deliberately left the eagle well alone to his own devices didn't seem to register). The sight of little Lied sprinting at full tilt back towards Pride Rock with a bird even bigger than himself following only feet behind, swooping around and making ear-splitting shrieks like a raptorial Alfred Hitchcock recut, was enough to send everyone else into incurable hysterics, at least until they realized that the spectacle was not prearranged, nor was the pursuer merely putting on a show. Simba wasn't able to do much except apologize to the incensed bird and promise that there would be no encore performances, although he did try and advocate a bit on Lied's behalf. Hermann, who was staying with the pride for the weekend as he normally did, heard the entire exchange even from where he was sitting outside:

"_Henry, be reasonable now; he's just a kid!"_

"_Just a kid? He's a lion, and he was practically on top of me before I saw him! What am I supposed to do, just roll over and leave him to his own devices? I've got to watch my own back out here, you know that as much as I do—_

"_I understand, I'm just saying you might have overreacted a bit. You're twice his size, claws included; one wrong move, and you could have really hurt him!"_

"_I have talons, not claws, and more importantly, how could I possibly overreact to someone trying to kill me? Explain to me how that works?"_

"_He wasn't trying to kill you…and all the screeching and swooping around, you don't think that was a bit much?"_

"_Well, given that now he won't ever try going after me again, I'd say no, I don't think it was 'a bit much' at all. In fact, if he were my— _

"_You finished? Go somewhere and relax for a bit; come on, I'll walk you back out."_

"_Fine."_

Hermann could hear feet making their way towards the exit, but right before the eagle was ready to leave, he saw Lied, who was sulking in a corner and awaiting an unavoidable lecture from at least one, if not two of the adults. "_Heeeere, kitty kitty kitty_," he sneered, glowering, before letting out one last shriek and flying away.

"Learned a lesson today, did we, Liedchen?" Hermann had asked. "What do we do when we see one of those from now on?"

"Leave him alone."

"Good boy."


	3. Wohin?

**III – DREI**

_**Wohin?**_

Most of the time, Hermann's arrival at Pride Rock was preceded by a vague note at his camp:

_Left for the weekend. Back Sunday night. _

_~HWS_

And occasionally,

_PS. Whoever has been stealing my Scotch out of the pit, own up or I shall resort to beatings._

The others grew accustomed to seeing both the airplane and Hermann gone from the campsite. Hermann almost never missed a weekend visit, save for those days when the weather was bad on a biblical scale. But there had only been two Fridays when flying was out of the question: one that featured a thunderstorm that lasted so long and unleashed so much fury on the land below that Hermann found himself reciting the _shema _out loud, and another when the wind was turning everything that wasn't nailed down into a missile. Barring such apocalyptic conditions, Hermann was almost always in the air by six and touching down next to Pride Rock half an hour or so later. Luckily for him, the sleeping arrangements from his last trip to Africa had been left in place, leaving the extra seat in the airplane clear for whatever else he decided to bring along. Books were by far his most frequent travel item: he had an almost inexhaustible supply, ranging from photo books of the most famous cities in Europe to old, worn folios of Goethe's poetry, from the writings of the world's greatest thinkers to arias by Bach and Mozart. CDs of music made frequent appearances as well, depending on how the work week had gone—five days well spent could mean a calm evening spent listening to a set of cello sonatas, while days of endless number crunching in camp were just as likely to result in a subsequent education in just how angry and loud a pipe organ, backed by a full symphony orchestra, could actually sound. But none of these tag-along items were for Hermann's own benefit. He didn't need any refresher courses in European cities, German philosophers, or the classical masters…he already knew the continent quite well, being European himself; he had studied many of the famous thinkers in university; and as far as music was concerned, his voice and knowledge in that regard quite literally spoke for themselves. No, whatever Hermann brought along with him was almost always for Kopa, not himself. Kopa's curiosity eclipsed even Hermann's at that age; once introduced to all things bright, shiny and German, he could spend hours listening to his human friend talk about almost any topic imaginable. And Hermann was happy to oblige; as far as he was concerned, if Kopa wanted to learn about VCR repair and neurosurgery, then that would be the day's topic of conversation, albeit a very short-lived one: Hermann knew about a great many things, but how to repair video equipment was not counted among them.

Six in the evening. Hermann hastily scribbled a farewell-for-the-weekend note, complete with threat of corporal punishment to whoever had been stealing his precious reserves, and threw two books into his backpack—_Practical Music Theory _and _One Day in the Life of an Emergency Room Doctor_—along with his work laptop and some unlabeled CDs (pirated, of course) of movies and TV shows, subtitled in German just in case the dialogues moved along too quickly for Hermann to understand. He threw the pack over his shoulder, grabbed his cane from where he had leant it against a desk, and made for the bright yellow Cub parked a short distance from the tents.

"Off to visit family again, Hermann?" another researcher asked as he saw his colleague gimping along. "How's the leg treating you today?"

"Same as usual," Hermann replied. "Somewhere between nagging pain and wishing the rest of you would chop it while I'm asleep."

"Small world; I have a girlfriend back home who's rather like that. I was wondering, can I meet these relatives of yours some day? They must be a great group, seeing as you're gone almost every weekend to see them."

The question caught Hermann off guard. "You…so what you're saying is…you want to meet them?"

"I could say it in another language if German's not your thing today," the second man laughed. "Yeah, that's the long and short of it. I don't want to screw up any of your plans or anything, but if there's ever any room for one more in that plane, I'd love to tag along before we head back home. What do you think?"

"You're absolutely sure? I mean, you know what they say about how crazy extended families can get…"

"I don't have to 'know what they say'; I _live _with a bunch of crazy relatives! Trust me, after spending a week with my mother's parents, you could lock me in a room with ten hungry lions, and I'd not so much as—

"I'll see what I can do; we'll talk it over this weekend." Of course, Hermann had absolutely no idea how he was going to manage this discussion, but he did have every intention of following it through. Leading people down dead-end roads, except in cases where someone's personal safety was at stake, was not a practice he viewed with any sort of favor.

"Thanks, Hermann, that's real nice of you. You're not so bad, for a junior coworker that is."

"You have all of two weeks on me, pal. Don't let it go to your head."

"Oh, it doesn't. Your Scotch, on the other hand, has done so on more than one occasion."

"Werner Krieghoff, I'm going to kill you!"

In the minute that followed, the four other doctors not involved in the conversation all wondered simultaneously as to what the heck was going on between Hermann and Werner, the latter finding himself backed into a corner of Hermann's tent with nowhere left to run.

"_Put the cane down!"_

"_Say it!"_

"_No!"_

_THWACK_

"_Say it!"_

"_All right, all right! 'Thank you, sir, may I have another?'"_

_THWACK_

"_You owe me half a bottle of Lagavulin."_

"So uncivilized," the confessed thief mumbled as his assailant walked back outside and calmly adjusted his shirt collar. "That was completely uncalled for, Sterlitz!"

"I'll be the judge of that," Hermann called out. "Now get out of my prop arc before I chop you to bits, and don't call me by my last name either."

"Whatever…I hope you meet a bloody tornado up there!"

The journey to Pride Rock from the little tent city (Hermann had yet to think of a name for it) was quite short by air; the very top of the rocks could even be seen from the campsite, although nobody but Hermann was aware of the greater significance there. 'Take off and turn left' was the standard flight plan, then drop down as close as possible to the ledge, chop the throttle, and drop down onto the landing strip without losing the security deposit. Nothing about the landing was easy, and bad weather made it even worse: Hermann had always regarded bush pilot stories of the bad turbulence near Pride Rock as little more than fish stories woven by overzealous fliers, but he quickly realized that little about these accounts was made up.

As he flew along that evening, Pride Rock well in his sight, he could see a rain line coming toward him. _This weather really does have a mind of its own, _he thought as the sky got darker by the second. _Maybe I'll get lucky and beat this thing to the runway. _If only. By the time he was setting up to land, Hermann was fighting the airplane's every move. It seemed that the wind was determined to blow him everywhere but on course, the altimeter spinning through five hundred, four hundred, three hundred, two hundred…

From inside a cave, the pride heard the report and felt the vibrations from the motors overhead.

"He's late," Nala remarked. "He's almost always here earlier than this."

"Have you seen what's going on outside?" Simba replied. "I can't imagine even trying to walk upright in that storm, and Hermann's flying through it. I sure hope his plane has some lights on it so he can see."

"Well I didn't hear a crash-bang noise, so I think it's safe to assume he missed Pride Rock by a safe enough margin."

"What about the ground? What if he can't see that? Someone should go outside and make sure he's OK; he might need help with his things if he's brought any along."

"Are you volunteering then?" Nala said with a sinister grin.

"Well, I'm, uh..."

"Give it up, Dad," Kopa whispered. "You've lost."

"All right," Simba relented, "I'll go and find him. Anyone else want to come with?" Nobody responded; Wolfgang and Vitani went as far as to avoid eye contact by feigning fascination with the wall. "Don't all of you jump up at once. Is there any wood in here?"

"Wood?" Nala asked. "I think there might be some from when Hermann collected it last time, but what do you need a bunch of wood for?"

"I'll be a monkey's uncle I'm going out in this weather without something to dry off with afterwards. Hopefully our Executive Commandant has brought his fire sticks with him."

"Call him that, and he'll set _you _on fire. You know he only likes to go by Hermann; remember how crazy you got when he kept calling you '_Euer Majestät'_?"

Nobody could deny that in the mind of Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz, fancy titles and terms of high rank were only appropriate when used by himself to refer to another person, never the other way around. Trending towards humility had always been his fallback, sometimes maddeningly so; in describing himself, his brilliant abilities as a physician, breadth of knowledge in an almost inexhaustible variety of topics, and scores of other accomplishments almost never came through. But he had been working on changing that trend, slowly but surely, ever since his first trip to Kenya. He was nevertheless still wary of coming off as nauseatingly boastful—'Hi, I'm Hermann, and here's why I'm so damn great'— but what sounded like bragging to Hermann was still miles away from even the most liberal dictionary definition. In some respects, he shared the dislike of aggrandizing formalities with Simba, who was just as insistent that everyone, even the man who had saved his son's life, address him by name only, but the similarities ended there: Simba had no trouble stating that he was the King of the Pride Lands; for Hermann to refer to himself as _Kommandant Führingskräfte der Königriech Priderländer Doktor Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz_ (which took the crosswise length of a entire page simply to write out), on the other hand, would have come as a shock to everyone in earshot.

Even though he had his rain gear on and was in little danger of getting soaked through, Hermann was in such a hurry to get inside the cave at Pride Rock and away from the weather that he broke away from Simba's escort far too early and wound up in a series of unbalanced, misplaced steps, culminating in a highly unattractive face-first arrival. "I hope that's not how you land that airplane of yours, Hermann," Nala said, trying not to laugh as she saw that the wool cap on her guest's head had nearly traversed the whole length of the room prior to impact. "You OK down there?"

"I think so; just give me a minute while I scrape together what's left of my dignity. At least Vitani and Kopa didn't see—

"That was great!" a young female voice exclaimed from somewhere out of view. "Do it again!"

"I liked the part where he fell over," agreed another familiar face.

"Oh, damn…never mind, then," Hermann mumbled in German before switching back to English. "Laughing at face planting cripples, that's very grown-up of you kids." He shrugged his trench coat off his shoulders, which was rather easy, considering it was only being held in place by one sleeve as a result of the spill. "Hey, who's got my cane? Come on, guys, this isn't funny."

"Vitani," Nala chided, "give it back to him. No games tonight."

"But I don't have his cane, mom," Vitani confessed. "Honest. Someone else must have it."

"Kopa? Did you take it?"

"Not me," Kopa replied.

"Well it's got to be someone in—

"Looking for this?" Simba interrupted, with an all-too-well-known object in his mouth.

"Simba, really! I wouldn't expect that kind of thing from you…"

"Actually, Nal', I wasn't hiding it. The cane went flying when Hermann here decided his face would work better for walking than his feet; I'm just bringing it back to him."

"Well I'll be…I guess there's a first time for everything. Hermann, have you brought something good for dinner?"

"What kind of guest would I be if I hadn't?"

"You haven't got to supply us every time you visit; you're family, after all."

"I know, but who can argue with these?" Hermann rooted around in his backpack and pulled out a large plastic bag.

"What is it?" Vitani asked. "Did you shoot us something before you came?"

"Better than that! These things are Stuttgart's finest; nothing better made in the entire world!" Hermann turned the backpack upside down and shook out a few bags full of long, tube-shaped items. Nobody knew what these things were, but given their country of origin, Simba and Nala were happy enough that they weren't bottles of German beer. "They're veal sausages," Hermann explained. "You cook them for a few minutes, and there's no better taste in the world. Just give me a moment or two to light this fire, and we'll have ourselves a feast worthy of the gods."

Hermann struck a match, and then another, but the firewood didn't seem willing to burn any hotter than a slow smolder. "I don't think it's catching," Simba said. "Forget cooking; it'll take days just for the two of us to get dry at this rate."

"Here, use this." Hermann tossed a towel out of his backpack. "That ought to do." Hermann turned his back to the fire, which he could feel getting hotter as he laid out his things.

"You're right, that helped quite a bit." Hermann was still turned away. "I'll be dry in no time."

"Good, good. Hmm, that's odd…"

"What's odd?"

"Do any of you happen to smell burning fabric?"

Hermann spun around to have his suspicions confirmed. "I meant for you to dry yourself with the towel, not to throw it on the fire! Now I'm going to have to go begging to Hans for an extra!"

"Sorry," Simba said sheepishly, "I didn't—

"I know, I know, I should have specified. At least it wasn't a total loss; we managed to get our fire going nicely." Hermann's sat down and let his shoulders sink. "God, am I ever tired; I don't know how I got through this week."

"Tough few days?"

"You have no idea. Treating patients nonstop, getting all our data into the computer logs, and then trying to sleep with Karl snoring like a madman in the other tent. The hard work I can take—I'd be doing the same thing in Stuttgart—it's the sleep deprivation that's going to kill me!"

"I've got news for you, Hermann: there's someone else in this cave who snores as well. And he hasn't got four legs."

"Say what you will about me, but at least I don't hold conversations with people while I'm asleep. Simba, I don't know what you're dreaming about these days, but—

"What am I saying?"

"Just a few words here and there, but you move your head back and forth like you're looking for something and your feet move around all over the place; if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were having visions of yourself as a football referee."

"What…kind of words am I saying?" Simba seemed strangely interested in what seemed, for all intents and purposes, like an unimportant quirk.

"Nothing I can understand much of," Hermann said, "but there's almost always this long, drawn-out groan after all the head and foot motion stops. Come to think of it, you almost sound like you're saying the word 'no'…from inside a vacuum cleaner filled with bees, that is. I even timed it once; I thought there was something going on with you and didn't want to leave anything to chance."

"How long did it last?" Simba had gone from curious to almost embarrassed.

"How long did what last?"

"The groan, the word 'no'. How much time?"

"I don't know, I think four and a half seconds. It's hard to be very precise when you're half unconscious; I just wanted to make sure you weren't stroking out on us. Can't be too careful, after all."

"Ah. I see."

Hermann looked at Simba, and then at Nala, who appeared to share her mate's concern for reasons known only to the two of them. "Is there…something you'd like to tell me?"

"No, nothing. I'm fine," Simba assured.

"You're sure? If there's something wrong, I'd be—

"Really, I'm fine. Don't worry yourself over it."

"As you wish. Now then, who wants a sausage?"

Hermann passed a paper plate around, and waited expectantly for a general consensus.

"These really _are _good!" Kopa exclaimed after a bite or two. "Can you bring these every time?"

"I'll look into it," Hermann laughed, relieved that his cooking had gone over well. Lied tried to echo Kopa's enthusiasm, but only gabbled something indiscernible with a full mouth, affording Hermann a most unappetizing glimpse of what was inside. "That's just wonderful," the latter remarked, "bratwurst with a side order of seafood."

"What?" Lied said, having swallowed what was in his mouth.

"Mouth closed when you're eating, Liedchen. A gentleman never speaks until he's swallowed what he's chewing."

Hermann had resolved, before he ever arrived for the weekend at Pride Rock, not to overindulge on the sausages. It was a noble effort that never had a snowball's chance in hell of succeeding. Four, five or six bratwursts later—he lost count after the third—Hermann was laying stomach-up on the floor, staring at the ceiling and looking as if he were drugged to the eyeballs. "I can't…believe…I just did that," he groaned. "No self control…whatsoever." Then he looked around him, and realized that the rest of the pride wasn't faring much better. "You'll understand if we skimp on the music lesson tonight?" he wearily said to Kopa.

"Can't…sing…a note," came exhausted the reply. "Gonna explode."

"Thanks for the visual."

"I'll try and keep quiet this time," Simba said with a nervous laugh. "We don't want you to miss out on your beauty rest, even if it is on an old mattress in a cave."

"It's better than what I've got to sleep on in the tent." An idea suddenly sprang into head that was both ingenious and macabre. "Don't fret over me; I've got to write down a few things before going to sleep anyway, just some random work items. I guess this is _gute Nacht _then."

"OK. Goodnight, Doctor Sterlitz," Nala said teasingly. "Sleep well."

"Ugh, don't call me that," Hermann mumbled into his mattress. Nala couldn't understand him even though the words were technically in English, but she could tell from his voice that she had ruffled his feathers just a bit, much to her rather mischievous satisfaction. All the while, Hermann was desperately racking his brain for a few bits of information from physics class long since stored away.

Simba, Kopa, Nala, and everyone else retired to their usual sleeping spots. Hermann changed into some night clothes and went to his own place as well. Most of the time, Kopa and Hermann were glued together at nighttime, but as there were 'random work items' to attend to this evening, Kopa decided to leave his friend in peace. Once the others were asleep, Hermann quickly pulled a pen and paper out of his bag and started doing some calculations on a suspicious hunch:

_t = _(_2d/g_)^1/2

He remembered the equation as one of the Newtonian formulae, an old physics algorithm that he never thought would ever come in handy. As he punched figures into his calculator, he hoped that he would get a number other than 4.5. _Here goes nothing_…

4.52

_That has to be a mistake_; _maybe I entered a number wrong. I'll try it one more time for consistency. OK, _d_ is equal to one hundred meters—I thought it was only fifty last time I was here, but I miscalculated—_g_ is 9.8 meters per second squared; we multiply the former by two, divide the product by the latter, square root the result, and we have…_

4.52. Identical. There could be no doubts now. Hermann shuddered as he thought about what this number meant: the time, expressed in seconds and rounded to the hundredth, that an object of any given weight would spend covering a distance of one hundred meters. Still, the oddly coincidental time span was only half of what gave Hermann chills; equally disturbing to him was that this particular set of numbers only expressed one kind of motion in just one possible direction. "So this is what's been bothering him," he said aloud. "Those four and a half seconds are what you get when you use the freefa—

"What are you saying, Hermann?" Simba asked sleepily. "You need something?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you; I was just talking to myself. Crunching some numbers in my head." Simba fell back asleep, assuming that these numbers were something related to medical matters that he would have known absolutely nothing about.

"Four and a half seconds," Hermann repeated in a whisper, finally lying down himself. "Four point five two seconds...I think we're going to have to revisit a few unpleasant memories."


	4. Schöne Wiege meiner Leiden

AN: yeah, I know there's some long blocks of dialog here, but believe me, it's more than possible…I've gone on for much longer in real life. Be advised, Hermann's story about a funeral won't make any sense unless you've read the first _In der Fremde_. After this chapter, stuff gets going at a quicker pace, so bear with me!

**IV – VIER**

_**Schöne Wiege meiner Leiden**_

_Schöne Wiege meiner Leiden,_

_schönes Grabmal meiner Ruh',_

_schöne Stadt, wir müssen scheiden, _

_Lebe wohl! ruf' ich dir zu._

Pretty cradle of my sorrows,

Pretty tombstone of my rest,

Pretty town, we must part,

Farewell! I call to you.

~Heinrich Heine

There were no symphony orchestra dreams when Hermann closed his eyes. He saw only himself in a bright white empty room, talking to someone he couldn't see. The other person's voice, however, was not only audible, but very familiar. A face was not necessary to match the speaker with his identity.

"_You're absolutely sure you ran the numbers right? They were completely accurate?"_

"Exactly accurate. The time frame, the drawn-out 'no', they all line up far too well to dismiss."

"_I can't tell you how to proceed. That's up to you."_

"You probably have a better idea than I do, which is none at all. I'm not a shrink."

"_Nor am I. Sometimes you have to learn by doing as opposed to hearing what someone else would do."_

"Agreed. _Except _in this case, wherein if I'm wrong, it'll be a bonehead move worth putting up in lights."

"_I know. You can't afford to screw up; not too badly, at least."_

"Good, I'm glad we agree. Why don't you point me in the right direction, then, seeing as we're both on the same page?"

"_Oh, Hermann…now don't be angry with me, because this isn't going to be what you want to hear, but you're on your own for this one."_

"Why would you do that? You know what would work with him and what wouldn't—I can tell you do—but instead you're going to let me be and see if I manage a monumental screw-up? Is this some kind of new teaching philosophy? Applied learning through sadomasochism?"

"_Nothing new _or_ sadomasochistic about it at all._ _You'll never learn all you can with someone leading you around by the hand."_

"I'm sure all those malpractice suit plaintiffs feel exactly the same way."

"_Auf Wiedersehn…"_

The dream ended. Hermann remained asleep, but only for a few moments. In a surprise break with tradition, he was only the second to wake that morning, but not for the reasons he would have expected. Without Hermann's knowing any better, Kopa had taken a keen interest in a wondrous gadget of his known as an MP3 player, which seemed to hold an entire library's worth of music in a three inch by two inch box. For several nights, he busied himself trying to figure out how the machine worked, how to make the magic orchestra starting playing music, and that morning, he finally succeeded not only in making the music play, but in also selecting a track hidden in the far recesses of an old and long-forgotten playlist. As a result, Hermann was jolted from his sleep by a noise that rather resembled a nuclear bomb test played through a guitar amplifier:

"_**DU…DU HAST…DU HAST MICH…"**_

"Listen, Hermann!" Kopa exclaimed. "There's an angry man in your music player!"

"Kopa," shouted the exasperated doctor over the terrific din, "cut that Rammstein off this minute!"

Hermann knew his numbers were correct. The only variable was whether or not he was correct in relating his calculations to the scenario they seemed to fit so well. He was confident, extremely confident that all the pieces lined up, but unlike an unchanging equation or law of nature, there was always room for error in human conjecture, small as it might have been. It was the potential for being dead wrong that gave Hermann the most concern: on the outside chance he was mistaken, if Simba's night vocalizations were in fact nothing at all, he ran the risk of unearthing a most horrible mental menagerie for no good reason whatsoever. Hermann had already seen what could happen when mistakes were made with regard to another person's health: even the best-case scenarios were far from 'all's well that ends well', while the worst cases wound up in front of a judge with a duo of attorneys screaming at each other day and night. He knew there would be no tribunals here—in fact, in recent times, Hermann himself had served as judge, jury and executioner in the matter of _Residents of Pride Rock v. Zira—_but this fact served as little consolation. Either he would be right, or wrong with potentially horrendous consequences.

"Nala, I need to speak to Simba. _Einsam_."

"That means 'alone'…why alone? Has he done something wrong?"

"Not at all. On the contrary, I'm trying to be useful. It's about his, um…" Hermann leaned over and whispered something in Nala's ear. "Am I on the right track?"

"I can't believe you figured it out," Nala said, astonished. "What was it that tipped you off?"

"As soon as I said 'four and a half seconds', he looked like someone had just ripped his heart out. After you went to sleep, I ran some figures through a physics equation using those same four point five seconds as a value, and to make a long story short, I found out everything I needed to know. What I _don't_ know, though is how to go about getting him to open up. It can't be a fond memory, all that happened in that gorge."

"You know more about how to help him than I do; I haven't got your training."

"That's exactly my problem. My training covers external problems…broken bones, cuts and scrapes, shrapnel wounds from when the still you're using to make moonshine explodes in your garage; God, what was that guy thinking…"

"Hermann, Hermann…enough. I get the point."

"Sorry, I was really running off with that tangent, wasn't I? Still, you're Simba's mate, you know him better than anyone else here. Unless there's something _physically _wrong with him, I'm just a guy with a limp and a goofy accent in comparison to you."

"Aw, don't say that; it makes you sound distinguished." Nala tried her best to sound sympathetic. "Don't be so hard on yourself; your pronunciation gets better every week."

"I'm glad you think so. To me, it still sounds like I'm running the English language through a food processor."

Nala and Hermann continued speaking, neither of them very keen on agreeing to be the psychiatrist on call. Ultimately, it was decided that Hermann would try to resolve the matter first, and then, if he was unable to make any progress, Nala would have a try herself. "Just don't force the issue _too_ much," she suggested as Hermann began to walk off in search of Simba. "He can be so stubborn sometimes."

"You're talking to the person who rewrote the book on stubborn, with his entire family as coauthors," Hermann replied back in a surprise display of confidence. "That is something I do very, _very _well."

"Agreed. No arguments there."

"How do I find the boss?"

"Climb down the steps and turn right; he's running the perimeter, but he should be on his way back from the pond by now."

"The pond, as in the place where I might get tenderized by a three-meter croc from Barcelona?"

"Of course."

Even though he knew that Simba would probably listen to him, Hermann was still a bit nervous about speaking with the king before anyone else had the chance to do the same. Yes, he was family, no, there was no question of rank, but still, difficult conversations were difficult conversations. He decided to kill a few minutes, just to give Simba some extra time to head home, and follow some old advice of his grandfather's: 'When life gives you lemons, shoot them.' There was a rifle and a few cartridges on the parked airplane's rear seat; Hermann ambled over and took the items out, keeping a keen eye on a gazelle a few hundred meters away.

"You're so weird," a cub's voice said from somewhere in a grass thicket as Hermann started to sight his rifle in. "All the incredible things you say you humans can do, all that talk of how you're '_ze most advanced species to ever populate ze planet'_, and you still need airplanes to fly, blankets and tents to stay warm at night, and one of those bang sticks just to find food!"

"Always a pleasure to see you, too, Vitani. And I've gotten a bit better at making my 'th' sounds, for your information."

"Except when you get angry, in which case it sounds even _more_ like German than normal. And how'd you know it was me, anyway?"

"One, I can recognize your voice; two, you're the only one who tries to sneak up on me; three, the snarky commentary. All of those…in reverse order, actually."

"OK, a point for you, but I'm still winning."

"I didn't know we were keeping score. And don't hate on my bang stick; its real name is a Remington 700, and furthermore, it's been responsible for several of your meals this month, perhaps even one more in a moment or two. He would make a nice supper, don't you think?" Hermann gestured towards the oblivious gazelle.

"Sure, he looks tasty. If he were close enough to hunt, I'd say go for it."

Hermann cracked a wry grin. "Watch the maestro and learn." He got down on his stomach and started sighting down the barrel again. "Perfect...no wind, two hundred meters."

"I can't fire one of those things, so what do you expect me to learn?"

"Humility," Hermann whispered a second before pulling the trigger. The gazelle stayed standing as the echo from the shot died away.

"Ha! You missed! The great Hermann Sterlitz has finally whiffed a—

And then, as if waiting for the perfect moment, the gazelle keeled over with a satisfying thud. _"Man, _am I ever good! _Der allebeste in der Welt! _Hey, Simba!" Hermann called out as he caught sight of the king approaching Pride Rock, "did you see that?"

"Nice mouth," Vitani scoffed. "That was what you call humility? I'd hate to see what your definition of bragging looks like."

"I think his head would explode," Simba said as he walked up. "'Morning, Hermann."

"_Guten Tag _to you as well; back early, I see. Not a bad shot, eh?" Hermann got up and left his gun lying on the ground.

"Not at all. Vitani, why don't you go find Lied and Adila, and let them know that tonight's dinner is taken care of. It shouldn't be much of a problem for the three of you to bring that gazelle in."

"OK dad." Vitani knew that her adoptive parents at Pride Rock bore no real relation to her in actuality, but in her mind, this was a minor detail at best, utterly unworthy of consideration. As she walked off, she tried to say 'see you later' to Hermann in German, but what came out of her mouth was little more than a nonsensical concoction of syllables.

"Got to give her credit for trying," Simba said with a fond look in his eye. He didn't speak any German at all—even less than the few words Vitani could identify—but he could still tell that whatever had just been said, it wouldn't show up in any phrasebook...anywhere. "I know she doesn't always show it—one wouldn't expect her to, given what her life was like before she came here—but Vitani's got as caring a heart as anyone else here. What was it she said just then?"

"I can only assume she was trying to say goodbye, but it turned into complete gibberish. Like something out of a redubbed alien movie."

"Oh well. I suppose everyone has room for improvement. Anyway, sorry to come and go, but I've got to—

"_Warten, bitte…_time out." Hermann cut him off, not even bothering with a segue into The Big Question: "Why are you having nightmares about the canyon again?" Simba froze in his tracks. "I know everything, Simba. What's changed since the last time I was here?"

"What? How did you…well, however you know, it doesn't matter. I don't want to talk about that, not now. I'll see you later this afternoon."

"You're not going anywhere, _Euer Majestät_. As soon as Nala finds you, which she will if you skip out, she'll send you right back to me. That is, of course, unless you were to just kill me…think about it; it would be easy. No witnesses, not enough time for me to grab my rifle, just you versus an unarmed gimp from Germany."

"I'd never do that," Simba groaned. "I wouldn't dream of it. Now will you please drop—

"Lucky me, then. I guess the homicidal maniac genes skipped a generation."

"You're out of line, Doctor Sterlitz."

"And you're deluding yourself!" Hermann shot back. Just as Vitani had described a few mintes before, his efforts at careful pronunciation went straight out the window. "You want to run from me, fine; go and run until your legs drop off. But you'll never run away from your own mind. And if saying that makes me out of line, then lock me up, take away my rifle, cut the ignition wiring on my plane, confine me to the cave…but none of that will do a bloody thing. You'll be haunted by whatever it is that's preying on you until you come to terms with it." Simba looked like he understood, and Hermann reined his tone of voice back in. "Tell me what's happened. We're family; we don't need to keep secrets."

"Fine, I'll talk, but only if you'll talk as well. I tell you what's on my mind, you tell me something that's on yours. Deal, or no?"

"A quid pro quo game? Why is—

"Yes or no, what's it going to be?"

"All right, yes, but you go first. What are you seeing in your nightmares?" Hermann took a seat on the ground, assuming that this conversation was now going to last twice as long than he originally had thought.

"I'm in the canyon," Simba began, "on the cliff to the side of it, in fact. It's the day my father was murdered. I can see everything, just the way it happened. Now you…what happened when you got back to Germany after your first trip here? Your mentor had been killed; was there anything you did?"

"I bought a new cane the day after the plane landed; it's the same one I use now. After I left Anatoly's shop, I went to the hospital to ask about coming back here. The services for Friedirch were scheduled for the day after, but people were trying their best to act like nothing had ever happened. Easier said than done, though, when there's a giant hole where the main office used to be. Your turn now; what can you see in the canyon beneath you? Be specific."

"I can see the herd going through the gorge, and my father is trying to climb up the cliff. He's leaving claw marks in the rock from where he skids down. At that point, I was naïve enough to believe he had a chance. I wasn't in danger anymore; I figured that in a few seconds, everything would go back to normal and we'd be headed back home." Hermann waited expectantly for the rest of the story, but he wasn't going to get off that easy. "What did you do the next day, the day of the funeral? You're back at the hospital, you've seen the damage from the bomb…now what?"

"The memorial service was first. They held it in the morning, in the staff lounge. Almost everyone turned out, except for those who were already engaged in some sort of emergency. Some people shared stories of the people who had died, there were announcements about a scholarship being set up at the University in the deceased's names, and then we all went back to work. We couldn't make too much of a production out of it; there was no telling when the next ambulance might pull in."

"Why didn't they have the service right after the explosion?"

"Because Markos and I were away, here, and they wanted the both of us to attend. Where was I with you? I've forgotten."

"Climbing the cliff."

"Right, your father is climbing the cliff. You're watching from out of harm's way. And?"

"The next part I couldn't see for myself. I only saw the result."

"What was this 'result'?"

"First, tell me what happened after you left the hospital for the day. Results afterwards."

"You know, a back-and-forth exchange doesn't work if I spill my guts and get one sentence from you in return."

"Do you want me to keep talking, or don't you?"

Hermann saw he had no other option except to play by Simba's rules. "The funeral was held in the evening at one of the synagogues in town, one of the few that managed to survive the war. I was sitting in the front row, dressed completely in black except for a white and blue tallis around my shoulders that I've had since childhood. I had to use a different cane as well, since I didn't think neon flames were very appropriate for the occasion. And it was horrible, every moment of it. We all sat there knowing Friedrich was gone forever, while the rabbi recited prayers stone-faced and everyone else around me was either staring at the floor or bawling themselves hoarse. When the time came to recite the prayer for the dead, I was called up; they said that Friedrich would have wanted me to say it."

"Did you?"

"Quid pro quo. You first."

"The next thing I saw—actually, I didn't see anything at first; I heard it. A horrible, piercing scream. It was the only time in my life I've ever heard a sound like that. And then I could see my father plummeting to the ground, disappearing beneath the stampede a few seconds later. Only that's…not what I'm seeing in my dreams. My father isn't the one who's falling."

Hermann didn't wait for a prompt to continue his tale, knowing that whatever he got out of Simba, even if was just a sentence or two, he would get one step closer to the truth. "When I was called on, I walked up to the lectern_, _but it was difficult for me. There were some steps to get there, and the cane I was using was a good ten centimeters too short. I chanted the _kaddish_ as if I were performing alongside the Berlin Philharmonic. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the rabbi staring at me with his mouth half open and—

"I'm not surprised. You have an amazing voice."

"Hold on, I'm not done yet. I finished the prayer, and limped back to my seat. There was silence in the building for a good two minutes. I know it doesn't sound like much time at all, but when you're sitting there waiting for someone to break the cycle, to say something, anything at all, it feels like a bloody eternity. At last, the rabbi looked at me and said, '_Vielen Dank_, _Doktor Sterlitz.' _I've never felt that relieved just to hear someone speak."

"He said 'thank you very much' to you, right?"

"Yes. Now let's hear the second part of your dream, if you'd be so kind as to indulge me."

"What I can see, every time I have the dream, isn't my father falling to his death. It's Kopa." For a few seconds, Simba had to stop, but he was shortly able to gather himself and go on. "I can see my son, and he's looking at me the entire way down. And the whole time, he's screaming to me, 'Dad, help me! I don't want to die!' But there's nothing I can do! He keeps dropping, and suddenly _I'm_ the one making that awful scream for four and a half seconds, the same amount of time that you so expertly figured out last night!"

"Is that where the dream ends?"

"I wish it was," Simba said, shaking his head. "After the last of the stampede runs through, I get down to the bottom of the canyon and make my way over to the tree where Kopa is lying. I can see that somehow, he's still alive. Barely. And he picks his head up with his last bit of strength, looks me straight in the eye with the most sorrowful expression you've ever seen…and he dies. It's right then that the dream ends; sometimes I wake up and have to rush over to check on Kopa, hear him breathing and make sure he's not too hot or too cold. Other times, I stay asleep and barely remember a thing."

"Interesting…"

"Indeed it is. But I don't believe you're quite finished," Simba said in as much of a monotone as he could, trying to keep the images he had just described from reappearing in his mind. "Quid pr…sorry, what is it called?"

"Quid pro quo. It means 'what for what' in Latin."

"Right, what you said. Was the funeral the last thing you did?"

"No," Hermann said, in spite of himself. "It wasn't. I got in my car and drove back to the hospital after the rest of the mourners had left. The sun had gone down some time ago, and it was starting to rain; luckily, I'd stashed my beret and trench coat in the trunk of my car. I walked inside, past the reception desk and through the empty clinic, and locked myself in an exam room. And in that room, hidden away from anyone who could have seen or heard me, I finally went ballistic. I cursed up and down, swore at everything and anything with the most disgusting words I knew, words that even you and Kopa haven't heard of. I ripped the light fixture out, kicked a hole in the drywall with my good foot, and smashed a glass jar to bits. I picked up another jar, dumped the cotton pads out of it, and took pot shots until it shattered against a table leg. I couldn't take it any longer; for the entire day, I had to go along with that notorious Sterlitz stoicism, in front of my patients, my supervisors, my colleagues and family. But in that room, alone, I could feel and act human again. You may have heard a real scream only once in your life, Simba, but had you been with me that night, you would have heard it a second time."

Simba actually felt a chill go down his back; he didn't know what hospitals really looked like, but he could see Hermann on his rampage of destruction nonetheless, and even more so, he could hear the scream as clearly as if he had been standing next to Hermann in the exam room.

"And that was the last thing I did that night," Hermann concluded. "I walked out the back door into what had become a huge rainstorm, drove home, and got drunk. I thought I'd put everything behind me, what with the two weeks I spent here between Friedrich's death and the funeral, but I was mistaken. One can cover up for only so long. It…does things to you."

"I'm so sorry. I had no idea."

"Yeah, nobody did, just myself, and whoever got to clean up the exam room after I was through with it. I sort of forgot about Friedrich while I was here and preoccupied with everything else—you can't blame yourself for not picking up on the signs of grief, because there really weren't any— but once I got back home, I felt like I had run into a brick wall."

"So this is why you were so…"

"Stubborn about having this conversation with you? Yeah, now you know why I couldn't just sit here and say or do nothing when I knew something was haunting you; I've already learned the hard way that there's no sense at all trying to go it alone, not unless you absolutely have to. That's what the rest of us—all of us—are here for…and yes, I realize in hindsight that I should be better at following my own advice. We all can be."

"I wish I could have been there after you got back; at least you'd have had someone to talk to."

"I did. My parents live in Stuttgart, not ten minutes from my building. Sometimes, though, you just have to let it all out, go manic, and break sh…sorry, _stuff. _Know what I'm saying?"

"I think I do, actually."

"There's just one thing I have to know, about your dreams that is. Do you know why they've just started now? Why now, and why not before? It's all right if you don't—

"Oh, that's actually pretty easy to answer," Simba confessed. "And they didn't just start now; they started a week or so after your first trip ended. When you were here," he explained, we were all safe, the safest we've ever been in our history. You and Markos were our riflemen, our doctors, our confidants and friends. And then you left for Stuttgart, and we were unprotected again, like we were stuck waiting for another disaster to happen."

"So that's why you're seeing Kopa in your father's place; you're afraid something's going to happen to him again?"

"Yes, that's the long and short of it. There weren't any secrets; after you two left, the others could see I was concerned again. Even Kopa was worried, not for his own well being, but for mine. Go figure, all that happened to him, and he's still more anxious about his dad than about himself."

"You raised your son well, then. And your crazy uncle's dead, so there's no reason to be fretting about the canyon anymore." Hermann started tapping the end of his cane against his toe, an action that meant, as everyone in the pride knew, that the cane's owner was still thinking hard.

"So what's a duo like us to do in a world like this?" Simba asked after a moment or two, suddenly much less formal and somber. "What's the secret to not living every day hoping something bad won't happen?"

"We take what life gives us, and we make the best of it." The cane tapping suddenly stopped. "There's nothing more than anyone can ask. You and I, we both need to look ahead and realize how lucky we are to be here now, with everything the way it is." Hermann took a long, wistful look around, seeing nothing but empty, pristine grassland stretching out for miles. "The past is already on the books. It can't be changed. The future, on the other hand, is a blank page."

"That's beautiful," Simba said. "Who wrote it?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"Which of your favorite poets wrote that sentence? Was it Heine? He's always a safe bet with you."

"Not Heine. Not Eichendorff or Goethe either. That was vintage Sterlitz."

"Well it's very good; I'll have to tell it to Kopa sometime."

"Much appreciated, but probably not necessary," Hermann said, wagging his index finger like a professor at his podium.

"Why?"

"I don't think Kopa really needs to be told something he already knows."


	5. Ein Vorschlag

AN: the word 'Köpfchen', apart from being a convenient German variant on 'Kopa', is an idiom often used as a term of endearment for a smart or clever person (_Kopf_, the word that it is derived from, means 'head'). Two other words worth knowing are:

_Handspiel_ : a handball in soccer.

_Meshugge _:Yiddish (a dialect of German) for completely bonkers in the head

**V – FÜNF**

_**Ein Vorschlag**_

_**The following morning**_

**London, England**

**0530**

"_It's too perfect, I'm telling you. There's nothing, absolutely nothing between us and a cool hundred grand, maybe even two if we pull it off right."_

"_I've got news for you, pal. There most definitely is something between us and that cash, and it happens to carry a gun."_

"_Save it for your shrink. If you're honestly telling me that you're afraid of the police showing up, I'll find a new business partner right here and now." _

"_Shut up. I don't give a damn about any stinking cops. Never have, never will."_

"_Good. So there's no issue, then."_

"_Not quite. Someone's guarding the place now. He's some sort of hired gun; I don't know where he came from, but he's there, like it or not. Anyone shows up at that rock without permission, and they turn into Swiss cheese."_

"_You're telling me some lion has taught himself how to shoot an automatic rifle? Christ, I thought your pot smoking days were over."_

"_No, you clod, I'm telling you some _human_ has set up shop there, and _he_ doesn't have any trouble firing off a rifle at anyone who rubs him the wrong way."_

"_Where's he from?"_

"_Germany, I would think. He's strung up a German flag the size of Berlin over those rocks…don't ask me how he did it."_

"_So we have to get by one man, big deal. You've taken out a person once before, you can do it—_

"_Two men."_

"_What?"_

"_Two. There's a pair of them. Nobody knows where the second one is, but I'd bet anything he's there as well."_

"_Then we'll just have to increase our own numbers. Phone up our counterparts in Mainz."_

'**K****ö****nigreich Priderl****ä****nder', Kenya**

**0900**

Sunday at Pride Rock passed by uneventfully. The only moment that could have been described as out of the ordinary come at some point in the middle of the previous night when Hermann, still asleep, had sat bolt upright in bed, held up an imaginary red card, and screamed "_Handspiel!_" before dropping back to the floor and continuing to snore fit to bring the roof down. To anyone except work associates and close family, such occurrences would have been strange indeed, but to those who were in the know about his past athletic prowess, Hermann's frequent mental trips onto the pitch after lights out never came as much of a surprise. _Great, another football dream_, Kopa had thought to himself after Hermann's unexpected midnight booking. _Only the hundredth one he's had this week_.

It was only Saturday, meaning that Hermann would have the evening and most of the next day to himself. The following weekend would be his last visit for a month's time; he and the other researchers were slated to return to Stuttgart for four weeks. The higher-ups at the hospital had described the return trip as a vacation, but everyone on the research team knew better than to fall for that trick: between processing data and running samples through the lab, checking in with advisors and superiors, and planning the next phase of the stay in Kenya, the exhausted sextet—Karl, Werner, Marta, Hermann, Alexandra and Hans—might have the odd day here and there to themselves given an absolutely perfect set of circumstances.

The afternoon was hot, even by African standards. The year was starting to come to a close; November was quickly giving way to December, and Hermann often thought about how quickly the ski mountains in Austria and Switzerland would be filling up with eager customers. Except for the occasional tramp around the golf course, winter sports were just about the only ones he was still capable of doing, and for the first time in years he was probably going to miss out on the season. In Africa, the cold German winter was literally hundreds of miles away. The length of the days almost never changed, nor did the temperatures, and while Hermann's medical school friends were undoubtedly taking to the slopes in Innsbruck, Hermann himself was exerting just as much energy just to keep from melting away. He had always liked the winter, cold as it was, and found the lack of changing seasons somewhat disconcerting, even though the feeling was entirely relative: Kopa would have certainly felt the same way had he suddenly found himself walking through Stuttgart's central square in a ski parka at five in the evening, the sun already down for the night as a snow squall barreled and blew its way across town.

With the heat as high as it was, Hermann didn't see much of a point in doing anything apart from swimming or hiding inside. He had already been in the pond once already, where he was able to meet the entire family of baby crocs who lived there with their father, and decided that now would be as good a time as any to turn on the laptop computer and kill some time with a movie or TV program (hopefully something with a decent police chase or shoot-em-up scene). Hermann could never really remember what the blank discs he always brought with him contained, as the material thereon was obtained through less than legal channels (among his colleagues, the word 'pirating' was verboten, and usually replaced with the phrase 'borrowing without express permission'), but there could be no accounting for taste in such weather; anything to pass the time until things cooled off would be kosher. He picked a disk at random, slid it into his computer and waited for the drive to spool up; out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kopa walking inside.

A second later or so later, the video started mid-episode:

"…_and I'm here to tell my cheating husband that I've been sleeping with his brother."_

"_JE-RRY! JE-RRY! JE-RRY!"_

Hermann slammed his laptop shut. "And that's all we need to see of that! When the hell did I ever download that show? Hey there, Köpfchen."

"Hi Hermann," Kopa replied, looking even hotter and more tired than Hermann was. "Who was playing last night?"

"Pardon?"

"Who were you refereeing?"

"Oh, that…I think it was Eintracht Frankfurt playing against Bayern Munich. Was I really getting into it?"

"You were giving out cards this time."

"That's a first. You all right there? You look like you're about to pass out!"

"I'm melting. I wish I could sweat like a person can, that way I'd be cooler."

"It's not all that better, trust me." Hermann took out one of his canteens and uncorked it. "Want a waterfall?" Kopa nodded yes, and Hermann poured out the water over the both of them. "Well it's not much, but it beats nothing at all. Just think, if you were in Germany, you'd be freezing your tail tuft off right now."

"It can't be that cold there, can it?"

"I'll put it to you this way: think of the coldest night you've ever spent here at Pride Rock. You have an idea of what that was like?"

"Yeah, it was frigid."

"All right, now think of that night times three, and you've got Stuttgart in the wintertime."

"Three times hotter?"

"_Nein_. Three times colder. And that's just during the daylight hours, when the sun is up."

"But how does anyone survive?"

"It's not that hard to keep warm, you just have to be outfitted for it. My closet's full of coats and scarves to wear outside, and all the buildings have heaters to keep the air inside warm; the apartment I live in even has its own wood fireplace. Plus, when all else fails, there's always our good friend in the glass bottle to warm things up."

"Huh?"

"Liquor, Kopa. I think the heat's slowing you down today."

"Then you must have spent _years _in weather like this," Kopa sniggered. "How else would you be able to drink something that smells so bad? It's like torture…only worse, I guess."

"The torture is self-imposed. So what're you doing in here?"

"Staying out of the sun, same as you are. Have you been reading?" Kopa noticed the pair of books laid neatly in the corner.

"No, I brought those for you. Go get the one on the top, but be careful; it's an original leather bound cover."

Kopa carefully picked up the book with his teeth and set it down in front of Hermann. "What's it say?" he asked.

"It says—

"'Practical…music theory'?"

"Don't tell me you just read that…"

"OK, I guess I won't tell you then," Kopa beamed. "Didn't you say your school has a room filled all the way to the roof with these things?"

"Yes, I did; it's called a library. There are a few hundred thousand books in it, and that's not counting all the music recordings. Or the movies stored in the back room."

"Movies?"

Hermann realized that he had never explained this bit of commonplace technology to anyone in the pride. "A movie is…think of it as a story with a moving picture. Instead of hearing the story aloud or reading in off a page, you can literally see the whole thing—what the characters look like, what they're wearing, how they talk and where they live—in real time, on a screen right in front of your eyes."

"Wow, cool! Normally, you have to make all the pictures up in your head…"

"Yes, but there's nothing wrong with needing to do that. It means your head's working right." Hermann tapped the top of Kopa's head a few times, but Kopa noticed something odd.

"Why are there cuts on your hand?"

"_Ist nichts. _Nothing."

"Oh give me a break, I've tried using that on you a million times, and you've never fallen for it once. Lemme see."

Hermann stuck his hand out. "Let's have the differential then," he grumbled. "Go on, have a crack at it; tell me what you see."

"Hmm, looks like bite marks," Kopa said, staring intently. "Something bit you, but there's no infection…" He craned his head around to look at the other side. "No necrosis or—

"Whoa, wait a second, 'necrosis'? I don't recall that word being part of one of our music lessons."

"It wasn't. Markos taught it to me before he left; I think he was describing how your cooking tastes."

Hermann still wasn't sold. "So if my hand was necrotic, what would it look like?"

"Black, rotten, and smellier than a wildebeest carcass."

"Wow…_sehr imponierend_," Hermann proclaimed with more than a bit of humility. "Very impressive, Kopa. You're starting to sound like a doctor, minus the carcass image, that is. I doubt a patient whose limb was actually going necrotic would appreciate being described that way." Kopa flashed a wide grin. "And I might as well take the mystery out of where the bite marks on my hand came from: the 'something' that bit me was Vitani."

"Vitani? How did she—

"We were playing this new game she invented. I lost, obviously."

"She never told me about any new games."

"That's not surprising; I doubt she would have told anyone but me."

"Why, what's the game called?"

"'Let's bite Hermann'."

"Oh."

"_Ja. _ Not fun." Hermann stretched himself out, still trying in vain to keep cool, and started fiddling with his laptop again. He opened the screen back up, with Kopa watching behind him, but he had forgotten that a disk was already in the drive. Thus, the moment that the computer started back up,

"_JE-RRY! JE-RRY! JE-RRY!"_

Hermann hastily clicked out of the video program and threw the offending CD out of the cave, but not before a pair of young eyes had spotted something they weren't supposed to see.

"Was that a movie?" Kopa asked. "It was kind of short, and I think I saw a lady without a shirt on."

"Yes to both. So much for childhood innocence." Hermann didn't have any discs that were actually labeled, so he decided to abandon the movie idea for the time being, just in case the next CD was more _Jerry Springer_. "I've got a question for you," he said after a moment, "would you be interested in meeting a colleague of mine?"

"Is Markos back?" Kopa said excitedly. "Is he here with you?"

"No, it's not Markos; he's still working in Mannheim. This is another colleague of mine, one who asked me to introduce him to all of you before he leaves for good." Hermann left out the part about the stolen alcohol and the resultant caning that had ensued a few days ago.

"What's his name?"

"Doctor Werner L. Krieghoff. Kopa's ears drooped a bit; he was still holding out hope to hear the name 'Markos W. Schreiber', but no such luck. "He's a nice person, but I haven't actually told him that you guys are, you know…"

"Lions?"

"Yeah. That might not go over so well at first. Remember how Markos and I reacted the first time we walked in here?"

"Not really," Kopa said. "I was almost unconscious; I don't remember much from that night. It's kind of blank until the next morning." Hermann had forgotten that important detail. "I'm not sure why."

"More likely than not, it was from the anesthesia; I had to sedate you before I could do anything, and sometimes, the effects of general anesthetics can blank out your memory for a short period. As undesirable as that is, I didn't have much of a choice unfortunately…you were still conscious enough to feel what I was doing had you been awake."

"Do people ever have that problem? Losing their memories and stuff like that?"

"Sure, it even happened to me. I went under three times for my leg, and I don't remember a thing about the day of my last surgery; I can recall walking in the door, and that's about it until 24 hours later. They use an anesthetic gas with humans as opposed to a liquid, but it's essentially the same thing."

"Cool. You must really love your job, getting to work with all that neat stuff."

"Only you, Kopa, would go all the way to death's door and back again, suffer through days of pain and who knows how many sticks in the shoulder, and still think that medicine is 'cool'," Hermann mused.

"Why wouldn't I?" Kopa said back. "It's what saved my life, isn't it?"

"Touché. I guess we've gotten a bit sidetracked…meeting Werner, yes or no?"

"Sure Iwant to meet him! What does he do?"

"He's an MD."

"And I'm a lion. What else is new?"

"All right, I'll run it by your father this evening; in the meantime, I'm going back to the pond. Sitting in this cave is like baking in your own private Dutch oven."

"You don't have to run all of your questions by him; just because he's the king doesn't mean he controls everything."

"That's funny; in my dictionary, that's exactly what it says being the king means."

"You worry too much," Kopa sighed.

"It's my job," Hermann said with a shrug. "I stop worrying and keeping track of things, and people shuffle off their mortal coil."

"Then maybe I don't want to be a doctor after all. I'm going to go find Wolfie and Lied, maybe they want to play tag with the crocs again. If I see Vitani, I'll get her back for biting your hand."

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Why not?"

"Because then the next time she gets me, she'll be getting me for getting you to get back at her." _Four identical verbs in the same sentence…nice English there, Sterlitz_, Hermann thought. But Kopa seemed to understand, disappointed as he was that there would be no opportunity for revenge. He went back outside, and Hermann lay down again, picking up the music book from where Kopa had left it. As he turned the pages, he realized that before long, his student would probably be explaining the material to him, and not the other way around.

"_Twelve tone series in inversion and retrograde," _Hermann read from the book's table of contents. "Not today we won't," he said in German, "no tone rows today. Much too complicated stuff for this weather." He put the book back down and fell into a restless sleep.

_**That evening**_

Hermann's stomach normally woke him up from any midday naps he took. He was not a habitual daytime sleeper, but he _was _a habitual eater, and of large portions at that. Often times he wrote it off to genetics—his father was a great cook, his grandmother could make a roast chicken better than the chefs at Ami Louis—though the truth was that he just liked to eat, plain and simple. This time, however, what woke Hermann from his sleep was a conversation from outside:

"_No, Kopa."_

"_Why not?"_

"_It's too dangerous for you to go there."_

"What now?" Hermann mumbled, pulling himself up into a sitting position. "What's going on out there?"

"_It's not dangerous! Hermann lives there, and he's fine!"_

"_What about his leg?"_

"_He got that playing _football_, dad! Nobody bad did it to him; it was a sports accident!"_

"_Kopa, you are not going! You're just a cub, and Hermann has a job to do; he can't watch you every minute of every day."_

"_He wouldn't _need _to! I'm not a baby anymore!"_

Hermann heard a set of feet scamper off. Choosing his steps carefully and slowly in the fading light, he went outside where Simba was sitting and shaking his head.

"Having a frank exchange of opinions with your son, are you, Simba?"

"Frank exchange is right. You'll never guess what he was asking me."

"He wants to spend the next month in Germany while I'm back for work?"

"How did you—when was—

"I heard you from inside, along with a rather good description of what crippled me twelve years ago. Was I right?"

"Completely. Kopa in _Germany_…have you ever heard of anything that ridiculous? What could he possibly be thinking?"

"Don't know…wants to see the sights in Stuttgart, have a look at where I live, go to the university, taste the food, drink a pint, tour the hospital, watch some football, and head home, perhaps? Or maybe some combination of those; one can never be sure."

"Hermann, I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt, as I've only ever known you to be a person of exemplary judgment and reasoning, but I have to ask: are you actually suggesting that Kopa going to Germany with you _isn't _a crazy idea?"

"Oh no, it's definitely a crazy idea, completely _meshugge_—

"Good, I'm glad, whatever that last word means."

"_But…_but, that doesn't mean it couldn't work."

"You, too now? I can't believe I'm hearing this."

"It's true, as much as I hate to break it to you. I have a television, a radio, a fridge full of food, and my own transportation, and my girlfriend Anezka spends at least a few nights a week. Between the two of us, he'd be well looked after."

"You're drunk."

"No, I'm not! I don't even have anything with me to get drunk _on_!"

"Look, you spend all day, by your own admission, at the hospital. It takes an entire day, also by your own admission, just to get to Germany from here, and that's in a plane which, I'm assuming, is quite a lot faster than that yellow thing you've got parked over there."

"I can work from home, and the yellow thing's all I've got until I change it over for something faster in Nairobi."

"Hermann…listen to yourself! You live in the human world. You have cars and airplanes and hospitals and people everywhere; Kopa's lived here his entire life! No cars, no planes, no concert halls, just us. And all of a sudden you want to ship off with him to Stuttgart for a month? Where's your logic?"

"I don't know, maybe hidden somewhere in the fact that I'd never beenhere and experienced that lack of cars, planes and hospitals and beer—

"I didn't mention beer."

"Well you should have; what's a proper holiday without a bar?"

"Not anything you'd do under normal circumstances, apparently."

"The point is, I'd never been in a place like this even once in my thirty years before that trip with Markos, and I like to think the two of us still did OK all things considered." Simba didn't respond right away. "Enjoying that corner over there?"

"What corner?" Simba answered, not the least bit amused.

"The corner I've just backed you into with no way out." Hermann didn't even try to cover up the smugness in his voice.

"I only need one child here, Herr Sterlitz, not two. I'd expect this kind of talk from the cubs, but not from a decorated physician, and _least _of all from you. What's your favorite thing to do in Stuttgart, by the way?"

Simba already knew the answer, and now Hermann felt a bit backed into a corner of his own. "Going to the biergarten on Fridays after work, having a few drinks, and somehow winding up dancing on the tables shortly thereafter."

"Right, And this is something you think would be good for my son to participate in?"

"Absolutely not, I'd never dream of having Kopa do that. It's not the kind of thing that youngsters should participate in."

"You're young by human standards. If what you just said is true, why do _you _do it?"

"Uh…for fun?"

"I rest my case. Kopa, where are you?"

"_Lass mich allein! _I'm never coming back!" a familiar voice spat from behind a boulder.

"Do you want to handle this, or should I?" Simba said to Hermann. "When he flips that German switch, I can't get two words in."

"Isn't this my lucky day..." Hermann limped off to find Kopa, and Simba went inside the cave, thinking that his Executive Commandant had finally come around. This assumption, as well as leaving Hermannn alone with Kopa, was something of a mistake.

"Kopa?"

"_What?"_

"What's that for, now?

"I heard you back there. You said I had a crazy idea."

"It _is _a crazy idea. What you want to do has quite literally never been done in German history; nobody's ever brought a lion cub back from Kenya in an airplane and had him live in their apartment for four weeks. You didn't even like the airplane the last time; you made me land because you felt sick, and from here to Germany is almost day and a half in the air."

"So I'll starve myself for a day. Big deal."

"You, not eating for a whole day? Sure, and I'm the Pope." Kopa looked crushed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to speak like that. Let me talk to your father again before I leave. It's a crazy idea, but one that just might work in the right circumstances. In fact, I'd rather enjoy your company for the time I'm back in Stuttgart; that apartment can get rather lonely at times."

"Really? You'll talk to him?" The words came out faster by the second. "If he says yes, I promise I'll be on my best behavior; I'll do whatever you—

"Slow down…take a few breaths and don't get ahead of yourself. I'll talk to Simba, but only on two conditions: one, you don't bring this Germany thing up yourself—better to let me go first, talk for hours, and wear down the patience wall a bit—and two, no matter what happens, you have to respect your dad's decision. He's only worried about you coming with me because he loves you and doesn't want anything more to happen to you. _Einverstanden?_"

"What's that mean?"

"Are we agreed?"

"Oh…yeah, agreed."

"Good. Now back home with you; rumor has it your mother's invited a few guests over for this evening's meal, and I have every intention of getting to the choice cut before Roberto does."

"And if he _does _get there before you?"

"In that case, I just try my best not to become the second course."


	6. Bescheide

**VI – SECHS**

_**Bescheide  
><strong>_

**Mainz, ****Rheinland-Pfalz, Germany**

**1300  
><strong>

_Hello?"_

"_Franz, my old friend, how are you this fine—_

"_Skip the prologue, Neil. What do you want?"_

"_We've got a job proposition for you, provided you lot haven't lost your touch."_

"_I could get it back for a price. How much?"_

"_One and a half, maybe two hundred thousand."_

"_Euros?"_

"_Pounds. Well what do you say, yes or no?"_

"_We're listening. Make it quick; I don't want to run up this phone bill."_

"_You'll be able to afford it ten thousand times over when we get paid…and I thought you were still stealing phone service from the flat next door."_

"_Oh, right, I am. In that case, talk for as long as you want."_

"_Is everyone there?"_

"_We're here. Go on, the phone's on speaker."  
><em>

((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((()))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

"**K****ö****nigreich Priderl****ä****nder", Kenya**

**1600**

Sunday afternoon came with a welcome relief from the heat. The humidity had vanished almost entirely, and the hot air had given way to a fresh cool breeze. Still, he wore an expression of concern. He had seen weather like this before, and knew that the calling card of a bad storm was often a temperature drop accompanied by a strong wind. If he wanted to get back to the camp in time for the next week's orders of business, he would have to cut his visit a bit short, or else risk not returning until Monday and getting the full brunt of his team's wrath.

Kopa was understanding, but disappointed nevertheless. "We didn't do our music lesson this time," he complained. "First you were to full to teach, then you spent all day yesterday talking with dad, and now you have to take off before it's even started getting dark! How am I ever going to learn anything?"

"Oh come on, you know a lot already," Hermann said. "I'll prove it to you…right now, without even thinking about it, give me the rising tri-tone from C natural."

"F sharp."

"Relative minor to F major?"

"D minor."

"See? Keep this up, and you'll be putting me to shame in no time flat. Did I leave my coat in here somewhere?"

"It's on your bed, and so is your…whatever that thing you put on your head is called."

"Cap." Hermann walked to where his trench coat was lying in a pile, but didn't see any headwear underneath or to the side of it. "It's not here," he said. "And I haven't used it since Friday night."

"Oh, I forgot," Kopa said sheepishly, "it sort of…disappeared."

"Don't tell me that—

"That Wolfgang ate it?"

"What_ is_ it with that kid and eating clothes? First it was Markos's shoes, then my gym shorts, and now a beret that cost me forty Euros off the peg?"

"Why didn't you wear another one instead?"

"I didn't count on it getting _eaten!_ I guess I'll just have to find a new one back home."

"Can I help you find it?"

"Perhaps; that ultimately depends on what your father says. I trust you haven't forgotten what we talked about earlier?"

"Nope. I won't say a thing. Are you going to bring your other doctor friend over next time?"

"Shoot, I'd completely forgotten about that! I'll have to see if our schedules line up before I do anything else."

"What kind of doctor is he?"

"I'm not sure myself. He started out as an obstetrician—that's a doctor who specializes in helping women have their babies—but somewhere along the way, he just up and left the field. Still, whatever he's calling himself these days, he's an excellent doctor, even if he does get a case of sticky fingers from time to time."

"So he's a lot like you, then."

"Huh? How so?"

"Oh I dunno, maybe 'cause you steal everything that isn't strapped down?" Hermann covered his eyes with one hand and shook his head, knowing that this was about as accurate a description of himself as it was possible to get. "So Werner's a baby doctor…that might come in handy sometime."

"Why's that," Hermann asked with surprise, "you planning on popping out a few cubs anytime soon?"

"No," Kopa laughed. "Not me." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "But mom is."

"Really? Wow, congratulations! You're going to be a big br—

"_Shhh! _It's supposed to be a secret! Nobody else except for me is supposed to know, not even you!"

"Sure, good luck keeping _that_ one under wraps for too long. I think it's high time I got out of here; I'm really not in the mood to bounce across the sky, and that's exactly what I'm going to get if this wind gets much stronger."

"OK, guess I'll see you in a few days then."

"I guess you will."

"And you promise you'll talk to dad again?"

"May God strike me down if I don't. Walk with me to the plane?"

"I'll walk, you limp."

"Watch it, kid. I put you back together, I can take you apart again." Kopa gulped hard. "Jesus, look at you! Relax, it's just a joke!"

"Uh-huh," Kopa scoffed. "Hilarious."

By the time Hermann was back in the cockpit, he was second-guessing the decision to even try to get back to camp at all. The flag on top of Pride Rock, where some of the pride had gathered to watch a textbook example of a foul-weather departure, was perpendicular to the landing strip and flying straight out. _I've got two options_, Hermann thought, his finger hanging in midair halfway to the ignition switch. _I either take off in this mess and risk dying, or stay the night, fly back tomorrow, and risk getting fired." _A chill ran down the back of his neck. _Right, death it is. _With a shudder and a cough, the engine sprang to life.

**Evening**

After a blender ride through windy skies and a touchdown at camp that was classifiable as a landing in definition only, a green-faced Doctor Sterlitz was sitting in his tent, trying not to be ill as the others cooked a late dinner. He almost never got motion sickness (unlike Kopa, whose only airplane adventure had lasted all of three minutes before asking to turn back around), but in extreme cases, even Hermann's iron stomach was no match for a cold front on a mission.

"You're a sight this evening." Hermann had his eyes closed, but he still knew who was speaking. "Care for a sick bag? Or in your case, maybe an empty oil drum would be more appropriate?

"Shut up, Werner."

"Bad plane ride?"

"No, I got motion sickness from sitting here doing nothing. What do you think?"

"Serves you right for than cane episode the day before yesterday. If you're really feeling that badly, why don't you take something? And where have you squirreled away that Scotch? It's not in the pit, and we're dying for something to whet our whistles out here."

"I've hidden it well away from inquiring minds."

"Where?"

"Your mama's house. Now if you'll excuse me for the moment, I'm off to go treasure hunting in the medicine chest; maybe there's something in there for nausea. If only Markos were here, he always had—

"Markos…you mean that Schreiber guy who left for Mannheim? You've been here with _him_?"

"Why the surprise?"

"I don't know, he always seemed one coconut short of a palm tree to me. There're some ginger tablets in my toilet kit under the cot; you can take a few of them if you like. No need to go digging around in our stores."

"Thanks. Hold on a bit, where are you going with that violin?"

"I feel like practicing. Something wrong with that?"

"Yes, two things in fact. One, it's almost dark, and two, I feel like I'm dying here."

"I'll keep it soft, I promise. _Pleeeeease?" _Werner put on the most pathetic face he could conjure up.

"Fine, fine," Hermann relented, "but if you're going to murder a classic, at least do the composer the courtesy of tuning that thing up beforehand, will you?"

"Ever consider that it might be your ears that are out of tune, and not the violin?"

"Nope, never. I don't miss a pitch. Oh, just a fair word of warning; if it turns out that those ginger capsules are diuretics masquerading in a vitamin vial, your head's going to be adorning the top of this stake tomorrow." Hermann pointed to the tall pole in the middle of tent. "_Capisce?_" He was normally much friendlier with all of his colleagues, even with Werner, who had a unique ability to find buttons and push them _ad nauseum_ (and not in a particularly endearing way either, as Markos often did), but his sour stomach was definitely getting the best of him this time.

"Sure, Hermann," Werner sneered, "as if I'd do something like that. I believe those kinds of pranks are more up your alley; what was that I heard about you pillaging the supply closets after slipping laxatives into the janitor's coffee?"

Werner wheeled around and went back outside, violin and bow in hand, without giving Hermann a chance to defend himself. Not long afterwards, he started to scratch something out that vaguely resembled a Bach air. "The G string's flat…_again!"_ Hermann bellowed before turning over and staring at a dark canvas wall.

_How am I going to pull this off? _ _It's going to be hard enough just convincing Simba, and then there's the plane ride, setting up accommodations in the apartment, making sure Kopa's got something to do while I'm at work…and what if Simba and Nala want to talk to him while he's away? What if Kopa wants to talk to them? Is this whole thing even legal in the first place? If I get thrown in prison, then what? Kopa might never see his home again...ever._

Hermann flopped his head back. It was all too much to tackle in one night, even in the best of circumstances. He resolved to take up the matter again in the morning, and ended the night with a short phone call:

"_Hello?"_

"Hi, ma? It's Hermann."

"_Hermann, so good to hear from you! How are things in Kenya; the leg's not giving you too much trouble, is it?"_

"No, my leg's fine…well not fine, but as fine as it ever gets."

"_Fever?"_

"Nope, no fever."

"_What about—_

"Ma, I'm fine! Really! Has Markos given you guys a ring yet?"

"_He called two days ago; he said to let him know when you're back in Stuttgart. When do you think that's going to be?"_

"We're supposed to leave Friday evening or Saturday morning; I'll know more later." The departure and arrival dates were in fact dependent on whether or not Kopa would be tagging along, but Hermann wasn't prepared to divulge this particular bit of information.

"_Make sure you let us know when it is so we can cook you something for dinner, and have a safe trip back home. Take care flying that thing around, OK?"_

"I will, don't worry. I'm licensed, remember? They've said it's kosher for me to fly anything with two props or less."

"_I know. Have a good night, and I'll see you next week."_

"You too. Goodnight."

Back at Pride Rock, quite a while after he was supposed to be asleep, Kopa was engaged in some mental aerobics of his own. He would never have dreamed of breaking his promise to Hermann and bringing Germany up again, but this was no barrier to _thinking _about it. And since he couldn't talk about Stuttgart directly, he was determined to find some other way around the roadblock: if he kept the conversation among the cubs, none of the adults would ever know.

"Tani?"

"Yeah?"

"You're not asleep either?"

"Nope. Can I share that mattress with you? This floor's too hard to sleep on."

"I guess—

Kopa didn't have time enough to finish before Vitani had jumped onto his bed and burrowed under a beaten-up Stuttgart Football Club fleece, occupying most of the space in the process. "No fair," Kopa whined, "give me that back!"

"Or _what_?"

"Or I'll…do this!" Kopa saw the end of Vitani's tail sticking out one end of the sheet, and promptly closed his teeth around it.

"_Yeeeaugh!" _Vitani almost left the ground.

"Change your mind?"

"Fine, all right already, I'll move over. I can't believe you actually _bit _me…"

"Yeah, is your tail OK? I didn't mean to do it that hard."

"I think I'll live. Maybe I was wrong; you might have survived in the Outlands after all." The two cubs shared a quick laugh and lay down side by side.

"About that, the Outlands and everything," Kopa wondered aloud once he had gotten comfortable again, "what do you think it's like in other parts of the world?"

"Like where?"

"I don't know, what about Europe? What do you think goes on over there?"

"Who knows, but how different could it be? I'm sure Europe is just like the Pride Lands, except the lions speak other languages."

"No, there aren't any lions at all, not in Germany there aren't."

"Not one?"

"Not one. It's just humans, no lions at all. And all the humans have one of those cars—

"You mean that old rickety thing that Adila and I got to ride in?"

"Uh-huh. There's thousands of them, and they go on these special black-and-white paths called roads, and the roads go between the buildings."

"What're those?"

"I think they're the places where people live. Like Pride Rock, but a lot bigger and more square looking."

"Bigger than Pride Rock? That's impossible; look at this place! It's huge!"

"I know. But that's what Hermann said, so it has to be right."

"You do realize that even Hermann makes mistakes now and then?"

"Sure, but he's lived in Stuttgart for thirty years. I think he'd know what he's talking about, don't you?"

"I guess so. Hmm..."

"What?"

"Do you think that's what a 'city' is? The place where all the buildings and roads and cars and people are, maybe the whole thing is a city."

"Maybe." Kopa let out a heavy sigh, looking unexpectedly glum.

"What's the matter?" Vitani asked.

"There's a whole other world out there, and I'm never going to get to see it," Kopa said with a sorrowful frown. "Ever since I got attacked, Dad's been over my shoulder every minute of every day. You and Lied and Wolfie can go wherever you want and do whatever you want…but I can't. I can't do _anything_ anymore. Dad doesn't think I can be on my own without something horrible happening."

"Come on, of course he does! He knows you can do plenty of things!"

"Oh yeah? Name one."

"Uh…"

"See! You're my best friend, and even you can't think of anything!"

"You know how to sing. You can even read those little black dots; nobody else here can do that."

"So what? I can sing on my own in this cave, which is right where Mom and Dad want me for the rest of my life."

"Come on, don't talk like that; you're going to be the king someday! Just think of all you'll get to do then!"

"Yeah, sure, like that's never going to happen. Dad's not going to let me rule; he's too afraid I'll do something stupid and screw up. If he could only see what I can do on my own, he'd—

"But you're the only one in the family who can take on the throne," Vitani said, cutting Kopa short. "It has to go to you."

"Something tells me they're going to break the rules." Kopa turned himself to face a corner and dropped his head onto his paws. Vitani didn't know what else to do except put her own head on top of Kopa's. But unbeknownst to either of the cubs, their conversation had not been as secretive as they had thought. Someone else had been listening from the very beginning, and wasn't prepared to go the night without interceding on her son's behalf.

"Simba?" a lioness called out to the king, who was standing outside the cave looking up at the sky. "You'd better get yourself in here now."

"What did I do? What's wrong?"

"I just heard the most pathetic conversation ever between your son and Vitani…do you know what he said to her?"

"No, but something tells me you do."

"He said that you think he's worthless, that you never let him do anything because he might get hurt or make a mistake."

"Anything else?"

"Yes, he said you'd sooner give the throne to Vitani than to him."

"He's a cub, dear," Simba said. "I'm sorry he's taken it the wrong way, but someone's got to watch after him or who knows what else—

"Simba, this has gone on long enough! I put up with you micromanaging him after he got attacked because I was as scared as you were, especially those first couple of weeks after Hermann and Markos were gone, but it's time to give this overprotectiveness up! We've got one son, an adopted daughter, and another cub on the way…is this how you want them to grow up? Thinking they'll never be good enough to be on their own?"

"So according to you, I should forget everything that's happened in the past and let Kopa go off with a doctor from Germany to a part of the world none of us have ever seen before even once in our lives, is that it?"

"Was that all in one breath?"

"Nala, please!" Simba didn't know whether to laugh or feel even more frustrated.

"That doctor from Germany is part of your family, Simba, and he's the only reason you and I still have a son to call our own. If you want Kopa to grow up without—

"Since when is being careful and protective a bad thing?" Simba didn't let his mate finish her thought. "Last I checked, Kopa almost _died _because we weren't careful enough! We let down our guard and our son comes back almost dead, then I do my best to make sure it never happens again and you're upset because I'm doing too much? I don't get it…what do you want from me, Nal'? What is it you want me to do?"

"I want you to talk to Kopa," Nala said calmly, unperturbed by Simba's earlier interruption, "and not like some sort of treasure in need of constant protecting, but like a son. Your_ only _son, for the time being. He's been trying so hard to show you all that he's learned and knows how to do, but you never give him the chance." Simba kept quiet. "Let him tell you himself. Let him say what I've just said, and then you give it some good hard thought. What happens after that is your decision."

"All I want is for him to be careful and stay safe," Simba replied in a halting voice. "I'd never forgive myself if I let him go somewhere and he came back hurt, or not at all. I'd go on a four-and-a-half second drop of my own."

"Trust me, Kopa already knows what you want him to know," Nala reassured, nuzzling Simba's neck. "You've been too worried to notice, but he knows. What was it Hermann said to you about the past and the future? I can't recall his exact words."

"He said, 'the past is in the books, but the future is a blank page'."

"Then what a shame it would be to write our son's story before it ever had a chance to happen."


	7. Abreise

**VII – SIEBEN**

_**Abreise**___

_Let me tell you that I love you, that I think about you all the time,_

_Caledonia, you're calling me, now I'm going home._

_And if I should become a stranger, now that would make me more than sad;_

_Caledonia's been everything I've ever had._

_~Traditional Celtic_

Hermann counted the days until Friday as if he were an atomic clock, down to the hour and minute. Each day, he practiced his speech to Simba, checked his flight charts for the return trip, and made lists of everything he had and would need to get in his apartment should he and Kopa's wishes come true. These were intended to be private, but were nevertheless discovered one afternoon by Karl and Werner as they were searching for a spare box of pens. Hermann shrugged everything off as best he could, but his efforts didn't do much to resolve the confusion: he was never going to reveal his true intentions, and none of his colleagues could figure out what on Earth a doctor living in a one-man apartment was going to do with half a cow…even large dinner functions would be hard-pressed to go through that much meat in one night, and Hermann's apartment was certainly not big enough to host the number of people required to have a go at it.

The other doctors were far too busy with their own work to notice that Hermann had his thoughts elsewhere for most the day. Patients still arrived occasionally from local bush settlements for visits, but most of each day was centered on packing and doing what little data compilation was possible. The morning before everyone was set to leave, Hermann was busying himself cramming as much as he could into as few bags as possible and lugging them into the nearby plane. He had precious little space for the first leg of his trip, and was determined to make the most of whatever square footage he could find before he landed in Northern Kenya and swapped the Cub for something a bit faster and roomier. As he was straining away with one of the bags, Hermann saw another of his colleagues jog over to offer a second set of hands.

"Thanks Hans," Hermann said, "Much appreciated. What've you been up to today?

"Same as yesterday, more or less," Hans replied. "Just packing up and punching numbers."

"How did you get the computer to stay on for so long?" Hermann asked—grunted, really—as the two of them heaved the bag into the airplane's rear seat. "It's just a laptop; I thought the battery would have run out by now."

"You didn't know about the built-in chargers that come with them?"

"I guess not. Enlighten me, please."

"You know how there's a grid on top of the cover that looks like a bunch of solar panels?"

"Sure."

"That's because it _is _a bunch of solar panels. In case you haven't noticed, nobody around here's been hooking their machines up to the generator after lights out. A few hours in direct sun, and you've got enough power in the batteries for whatever you care to do."

"What about the internet cards…do they work anywhere?"

"Of course they do; how else would we get a signal if they didn't?" Hermann and Hans had made their way back inside. "We're in the middle of no-man's-land out here."

"That's fantastic! Just wait until I tell Sim—uh, sorry, never mind that second part."

"Wait until you tell who now?"

Hermann's mind raced. "A friend back in Stuttgart, he was looking for a laptop just like this one."

"Named?"

"Simón. He's…from Zaragoza.

Hans raised an eyebrow and put on a questioning look, but didn't offer up any challenges. "OK. Glad I could be helpful." He started to walk away, and then stopped cold after a few steps. _Busted_, Hermann thought, frantically trying to come up with other names that started with the letters _s-i-m_, but thankfully, the question that followed did not require anything of the sort.

"There's something I've got to ask you," Hans said, pausing for a moment to swat at a lingering mosquito, "how is it you've gone this long without knowing how your computer worked? We've been here way longer than it would have taken those batteries to run out on a single charge."

"Actually," Hermann replied, very much relieved, "I haven't used it that much since I got here. Just once or twice to watch a few videos."

"But how are you recording anything without the laptop? All the data we've collected, where's it all gone if you don't have a spreadsheet?"

"Over there." Hermann pointed nonchalantly to one side of his desk where a gigantic pile of paper the size of a small dog had accumulated.

"Oh dear God…is that your data, or a replica of Mount Vesuvius?"

"Maybe a little of both, now that you mention it."

"Friedlander's not going to like this. He'll have a cow if we don't—

"Relax, Leonard won't know a thing. I'll put it all in the spreadsheet once I get home."

"You'd better. We have all of 36 hours between when we land and when we're due for a conference at the hospital. Are you coming to lunch? We're having one last group dinner before everyone goes their separate ways this evening; Alexandra's cooking up everything we have left."

"You certainly don't have to invite me to a meal twice. Did you ever manage to get a direct flight back to Germany, or are you still—

"Stuck connecting. Twice. It's worth it, though; the price is right, and I can't wait to be in my own house again. As much as I like the work, I've never been able to sleep well out here."

"Really? Truth be told, I'm kind of going to miss it, what with my crazy neighbors and all."

"Come on, they can't be any crazier than us, can they?"

"Perhaps not, but at least you guys don't keep me up at all hours."

"And your next door neighbors do?"

"Do they ever. Let's just say that they like to, um, how should I say this…feel the love after the sun goes down."

"You don't mean they're—

"Consummating the relationship every night. Vocally. At 3am. You could set a clock to it."

"You just _had _to give me that visual before we ate, didn't you?"

"Oh, please, you're a doctor for crying out loud. If that's your idea of disgusting, then you're in the wrong field, Hans Richter."

"You remembered my last name!"

"It's amazing what the human mind is capable of, isn't it?"

With the last of the bags loaded into the plane, Hermann and his workmates sat down for their midday meal. The other five talked endlessly about their travel arrangements and how strange it would be to suddenly find themselves in real wintertime temperatures with four o'clock sunsets and icicles hanging from the roofs; Hermann, on the other hand, was entirely fixated on whether or not he would be spending the next month alone or with company.

**Pride Rock**

**1600**

Kopa had spent the day alternating between moments of excitement and disappointment. At times, he had convinced himself that his father would say yes to Hermann's proposal and could hardly contain himself as he imagined flying through the sky toward the city of Stuttgart; other times, he was certain, beyond all doubt, that Executive Commandant Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz, MD would be heading back to Germany alone. Still, even though the waiting was practically driving him crazy, Kopa had kept his promise to stay quiet about any trips abroad. He knew that if he had any chance of sitting in the plane's back seat, it would come about through Hermann and not through himself.

Outside, Simba and Nala were sitting alone waiting for the first glimpse of the plane. "Do you want to tell Hermann, or should I?" Nala said, scanning the sky on the horizon. "Someone should go over the ground rules with him before he gets the OK."

"I'll let him know," Simba replied. "Besides, the rules aren't all that complicated: get Kopa to sleep by sundown, make sure he follows every word of whatever Hermann says, and above all, _no drinking_."

Nala was glad she didn't have any water in her mouth, or she would have wound up giving Simba a shower after hearing the last suggestion. "Care to tell me what's so funny?" Simba asked, trying to figure out which word had been the culprit.

"You honestly think he's going to follow that one?"

"Why wouldn't he?"

"We're talking about the same Hermann Sterlitz, right? The one I know would choose death over a no-beer policy."

"You know, amazingly, this isn't making me feel any better."

"Then why don't you just talk to him about it?"

Simba was startled by a voice from behind him before he could put an answer together: "Talk to who? About what?" Kopa had managed to fly straight in under the radar, and even though he hadn't heard his German friend's name mentioned in the conversation, he still knew that something was up (if he had learned nothing else from hanging out with Vitani, it was that whenever adults spoke with each other in quiet voices, they were trying to keep something a secret, and Kopa couldn't stand to not be in the know about anything). "Who're you going to talk to?" he asked again.

"Someone I know," Simba mumbled, prompting a frustrated frown from his son.

"Well it can't be a girl," Kopa said, remembering that Nala had specifically used the phrase 'talk to _him_', "so that leaves me, Lied, Wolfgang…and Hermann."

"You're forgetting Roberto," Simba suggested desperately. "Doesn't he count?"

"It _is _Hermann, isn't it?" Kopa had seen through Simba's attempted roadblock from the outset. "I knew it; he's the only one you ever have those 'talks' with."

"Just tell him already, Simba," Nala said. "He'll find out sooner or later."

"All right, all right," Simba relented. "Kopa, your mother and I have been speaking since Hermann left last Sunday. About his offer to take you along when he leaves tomorrow." Kopa bit his lip and kept listening, remembering Hermann's 'nobody talks about Germany but me' rule. "It's still the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard of in my life, and I'm not going to change my feelings on that. So when Hermann arrives tonight, I want the two of you to eat a light dinner, and then you're both going straight to sleep."

"Why?" Kopa asked, broken hearted and staring at the ground. "I won't be tired enough."

"Maybe not, but you will be in the morning when you get up, and I hear it's very hard to get to sleep on an airplane." SImba cracked a nervous smile and waited.

"You mean I'm—

"Taking the second seat. And I'd get to reviewing your German right this instant; it'll come in handy where you're going."

"Thank you!" Kopa shouted, ecstatic. "I can't believe it; I'm going to see where Hermann lives! I'm going to—

"On one condition," Simba cautioned. "You're to listen to Hermann and follow his instructions as if he were your mother or myself. You'll be living in his home, so he's the king of Germany for the time you're with him, understood?"

"They don't have a king in Germany; they have a Chancellor, and besides, she's a woman." Kopa just couldn't resist correcting his father.

"Do you understand?" Simba repeated, a bit firmer than the last time. "You're not going unless you say yes."

"All right, I understand. When's Hermann getting here?"

"He can't be far away; just listen for the earthquake."

Kopa scampered off as fast as his legs could take him, shouting for his friends as he ran. "_Vitani! Lied! You'll never guess where I'm going tomorrow!"_

"He's not going with some random person who has an accent and a plane; it's Hermann we're talking about, isn't it?" Nala said to her mate, who was facing the other way and hanging is head. "The man who saved Kopa from death, risked his own life for us who knows how many times, and looked you in the eye not so long ago and swore allegiance and loyalty to our pride…that's who's going to be looking after our son. Hermann's not perfect, but there's nobody better I can think of for Kopa to be with."

"I know. I'm not even worried about that anymore. Hermann's going to take fine care of Kopa; he's well read, smart, and fast with his thoughts even if he's slow on his feet. And he's a medical doctor after all; if anything _were _to happen, that's just the kind of person I'd want to be there."

"Then what's upset you?"

"I'm really going to miss our boy. More than I know how to say."

"So will I…you'll see, though, he'll be back soon enough. Come to think of it, there's something important I learned from our Doctor Sterlitz not too long ago; it's a saying, apparently, in his country: _if you love someone, set them free_."

Now it was Simba's turn to bust out giggling. "Uh, Nala? Correct me if I'm wrong, but Hermann sang those words as opposed to speaking them, didn't he?"

"He did, actually; I never could figure out why."

"Maybe that's because it's a song, not a German proverb."

**0500**

The previous evening had come and gone quicker than anybody could have imagined it would. Hermann had arrived not long after Kopa heard the good news from his parents, and both spent the rest of the daylight hours almost unable to believe that in only a short while, they would be headed together to that far-off Federal Republic that Kopa had only known in books and stories. As a last item of business, Hermann convened with his future passenger's parents to go over the rules for the trip and demonstrate a new piece of technology—the laptop he was supposed to be using for his research. Though he was far from computer literate, Hermann's computer abilities were head and shoulders above Simba and Nala's, neither of whom had even _heard _the word "computer" before. Back at camp, Hans (with a little financial encouragement from his colleague) had already engineered everything to be as simple as humanly possible. All the connecting and disconnecting would be done on Hermann's end in Germany, and the Pride Rock computer would automatically start the videoconference program whenever it was turned on, but even so, the better part of an hour was required just to explain the concept of an on/off button, never mind how to keep the laptop charged in the sun and why it couldn't be left out in the rain.

Kopa could barely sleep at all that night. In the one short dream he did have, he was walking through an imagined (and understandably inaccurate) Stuttgart cityscape at Hermann's left side, stopping to say "_Guten Tag, mein Herr, ich heiße_ _Kopa" _to each and every astonished German passerby he saw. And of course, as soon as the dream was starting to get just a bit more detailed and exciting, everything was interrupted by a man with a flashlight and a cane.

"It's nearly five ," Hermann whispered, nudging Kopa on the shoulder. "Time to get up."

"The sun's not even up yet!" Kopa groaned, undoing all of Hermann's efforts to try and let Simba and Nala sleep just a few minutes more.

"It will be soon enough. I need the time to go over the plane and run a few—

"What are you wearing?"

"What am I wearing…I'm wearing, uh, clothes."

"On your head."

"Oh, that? That's my pilot's hat. Picked it up in Germany."

"It looks ridiculous."

"Well aren't _you_ just all smiles this morning?" Hermann didn't see much harm in letting Kopa have half an hour's extra rest, but Kopa, as tired as he was, couldn't get back to sleep. His mind was racing around in circles, not knowing what to think. _Should I really go? What if mom and dad aren't here when I get back? What if Hermann makes a mistake and we wind up in China? _(Kopa had no idea where China actually was; he had only heard the word used in conversation and assumed it had to be somewhere near Stuttgart.) And Hermann, in his mind, was already back in Stuttgart to begin with. He could already envision himself sitting down next to the fire in a reclining chair with a favorite book, a hot cup of coffee, and an attentive one-cub audience.

With all the hurry that Hermann was in to get off the ground, a long round of goodbyes was all but guaranteed. _Murphy 's Law strikes again, _he thought as the sun began to rise and Kopa continued making the rounds with his family.

"You promise you'll be here when Hermann comes back?"

"I promise," Nala said. "We'll even talk to you when you land if that's something you'd like us to do."

"You can do that? How?"

"Hermann knows how it works. He can explain much better than I can."

Kopa gave his mom and dad an affectionate nuzzle. "I'll miss you," he sniffed. "I wish you could come, too."

"We'll miss you even more," Simba said. "Learn lots, and have a good time."

"I will."

"Good. Now go, don't keep your friend waiting. Oh, and Hermann? Just one more thing."

"Yes, _Euer Majestät?"_

"OK, two things, actually: one, take good care of him_,_ and two, for the hundredth time…don't call me that." Side by side, Hermann and Kopa stepped out to the waiting airplane.

"It's packed," Kopa said after he was lifted into the second seat. "How far is it to Germany from here?"

"A bit over six thousand kilometers, and we'll be stopping a few times...once to change planes, and a few more to refuel. Cheer up, though; at least you're not the one who has to do all the actual flying. Any last requests before I hit the start switch?"

Kopa shook his head no. "Don't think so. You can start it."

"Give me a count from five."

"Five, four, three, two…"

"And…contact!"

Hermann pressed a few buttons, and the engine sprang to life with a cough and a puff of black smoke. "All right, we're turning!" Hermann yelled over the noise. "Everything looks good; let's get her moving." He slowly eased the throttle forward, guiding the plane down towards the end of the strip. "You all right back there, Kopa?"

"It's kind of shaky!" said Kopa. "Are you _really_ sure it's safe to fly in?"

"It's just the engine vibrations; don't worry, the plane's completely safe!" Hermann was now at the far end of the field. "Last chance to bail out; speak now," he said, still shouting, "or forever hold your peace!"

"Consider it held!" Kopa replied in an almost perfect imitation of Hermann's speech.

"Hold on tight, and look straight ahead past the nose when she comes off the ground." Hermann pointed a finger forward as he spoke. "You'll get used to it in no time! Ready?"

"Ready!"

Hermann turned his head around. "Fasten your seat belt, kid."

"Bye mom! Bye dad!" Kopa tried to call out one last time to his mother and father, but he was interrupted by a terrific engine roar, a lurch forward, and an even louder yell from the front seat:

"_Yeah! We're out of here!"_

The ground raced by faster and faster, until everything had turned into an incongruous blur. Just as Hermann had suggested, Kopa watched straight ahead as the trees and grass on the horizon suddenly gave way to limitless blue sky; Pride Rock, larger than anything and everything else around it, shrank into a gray dot behind the rudder. "_We're in business!" _Hermann yelled, knowing perfectly well that nobody else would be able to hear him. _"Next stop, Deutschland!"_

_I'm actually going to Germany, _Kopa thought to himself. _I'm on my way to…wow, that's a long way down…_

It was at that precise moment that two things happened at once: Kopa broke with his friend's advice to look forward until after the climb-out, and Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz, MD lost his cleaning deposit on his aircraft.

**AN: advance apologies if I've screwed up anything aviation-related. I think preschool kids know more about it than I do.**


End file.
